I played Sushil a rough mix of work-in-progress 'What time is arse' yesterday, and he said it could be the new Roobarb and Custard theme; Alison, on the other hand, thought it had a touch of Grange Hill about it. Anyway, this spurred me on to try and finish it today with melodica, djembe and glockenspiel overdubs, while waiting for the gas man, ferrying kids around to various appointments, doing laundry, sorting receipts, and ... nipping to a garage to try and decide what car to buy. Not a Suzuki Ignis (see below). We're trying to continue our pattern of buying a basic used car and then hanging on to it for about a decade until it eventually falls to bits.  Our Peugeot 306’s decade is up, much like its fuel consumption and running costs. And I finally joined Freecycle yesterday, so people having been coming to the house to take stuff away that's been clogging up the cellar and attic.

My oyster card is still sticking out of my wallet after last week’s brief journey through London. It makes travelling very straightforward. By contrast, I grew up getting around on Glasgow buses and I still find them baffling. How any tourist ever manages is beyond me. There is an incomprehensible fare structure which officially changes regularly, and in practice can change from day to day: two drivers will often quote completely different fares for the same journey. And they don’t give change, so you have to carry around piles of coins if you’re considering going anywhere. Added to this the fact that a few operatives (presumably in the name of faithfulness to history) still see courtesy and helpfulness as their sworn enemies, and you’ll see why getting on a Glasgow bus requires careful preparation and mental strength.