Airport shuttle

Mr Driver emerges from his lair and, after a brief conversation re our respective employment, says, “There’s half an hour to go before we leave, so why don’t I show you round town?” A rather attractive blonde is left standing, but 50 yards later Mr Driver’s antennae tell him that a slightly less attractive blonde/brunette pair (nice boots) is hurrying the pavement with the sole purpose of allowing him to be a gallant at a zebra 10 yards further and allow them to cross. So he waits. One hopes the bus wasn’t GPSed.

GSM attendee on music in Barcelona shuttle: “First Rick Astley and now Video killed the radio star! Barcelona, timewarp trash!” Integrated tourism management would deal with this kind of thing.

Trevor @ 12 February 2008 10:44 AM

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Comments

1. kalebeul » Airport shuttle (2)
   12:41 PM on 12 February 2008

   [...] [Mr Driver reminded me of the Canadian Hell’s Angel I once met in the back row of a BA flight from Heathrow to Vancouver. The hostesses made us drink all the whisky on the plane, and he ended up having some kind of reclining-seat-based scuffle with the guy in front. As we approached immigration, he realised that the scuffle had lost him his passport, and I thought I had seen the last of him as he ran back across the tarmac towards the aircraft, pursued by security staff. However, several weeks later, and severely lost on the island on my way to the flight back, a bus stopped and the large, bearded individual behind the wheel said, “Step in, brother.” The other passengers were requested to disembark at a passing mall, and I was driven at high speed to the connecting ferry.] [...]

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