On The Buses

Portland

It's becoming clear to me that where you sit yourself on a Greyhound bus is all important. You can decide to go up the back where there's more chance of a double seat to yourself, but also more chance of being surrounded by mentally unstable ex-cons who spend the journey eating and either shouting or mumbling to themselves, presumably depending on how long they'd been inside. The front is usually busier and there's the added risk of ending up next to a Hispanic family featuring one screaming baby, two toddlers and at least one comatose and dribbling great grandparent. Last night I copped out and went for the middle of the bus where I was surrounded by fat middle-aged women. It wasn't too bad, although the one next to me had an annoying habit of reading her book out loud to herself. When some people got off at one of the stops I politely suggested she move down to a newly-free double seat, which was a better solution for both of us.

The biggest city in Oregon is a very pleasant place. It's low-key, lots of flowers, bridges and galleries. The people seem to be quiet and studious, most of them spend a lot of time whispering quietly to each other over a pile of books in one of the thousands of coffee shops. I'm sure it'll be a fine place to spend a couple of days.

I see the news from Chisinau is predictably depressing. One-all against that lot is even worse than losing to Norway. For poor old Berti it's a case of 'they think it's Moldova, it is now.' Bring on Gordon Strachan.