[Mary Meriam]

Wow, John, that's a doozy.

[Roger Slater]

APOLOGY

I'm sorry that I missed your bash.
I truly meant to come.
First the bus did not arrive,
so I stuck out my thumb

and stood beside the road all day
in hopes that car or truck
would kindly offer me a lift.
It turns out, no such luck.

I went back home and grabbed my bike.
Alas, the chain was busted.
My car was in the body shop.
My motorcycle? Rusted.

I really meant it when I said
I'd come, when we last talked,
and since you live next door to me,
I guess I should have walked.

[Martin Elster]

Bob, that's absolutely hilarious.

[Roger Slater]

Thanks, Martin!


TRAVEL HOLD-UP

The passengers were seated.
We rolled out from the gate.
Our plane was next for take-off.
For once, we were not late.

The Spectator was laid out
to be read upon my lap.
That dreadful "Competition"
always helps me with my nap.

But all at once my cellphone,
which was actually my son's,
began to blare a rap song
whose refrain was "bombs and guns."

The officers had questions.
By the end, they didn't doubt me,
but when at last I was released,
the plane had left without me.

[basil ransome-davies]

When trains are late you wait. There is no choice.
At home you get the ranting Tannoy's voice
forbidding this and that, the Coke machine,
the platform staff's routine dyspeptic mien,
the sodden toilet and that sullen air –
so very Brit – of muttering despair....
The bats are out, a swooping crew. At noon,
chewing my trail mix by a salt lagoon,
I viewed a plankton-tinted chorus line –
those miracles of elegant design,
flamingos. Them, the quiet delta, me;
I savour the recalled epiphany
over a Fundador and a cigar,
the cheerful uproar of the station bar
my comfort zone. The Sitges train is late
by – ooh, at least an hour now. I can wait.

[John Whitworth]

That, Bazza, is a poem.

[basil ransome-davies]

I suddenly remembered this occasion when we were waiting for a delayed train in Spain, were on the verge of moping, when we realised the station cantina was open & the joint was jumpin'.

[Jayne Osborn]

That's Easyjet, known by the passengers as Squeezyjet.

John, in our house it's referred to as Sleazyjet.

Ann, you need not fear falling thirty thousand feet - it's only the last two inches that do all the damage!

I love flying - it's all the airport grief I can't stand. I was once made to remove a metal clip that was holding up my hair, and had to put it in my suitcase... I was going to hijack the plane with that hairclip, dammit, but was thwarted. How frustrating!