I've been up & down to Edinburgh a few times in the last couple of weeks to see the grandkids.

I've chosen to take the Gold Bus - mainly because I am of that age when I can return travel for 50p! For that, I can sit on comfortable leather seats and get served a snack by our hostess called Polly. After Perth, Polly duly put the kettle on and served up a dryish millionaire shortbread, and coffee in a plastic cup. No, I'm not complaining. I'm mindful of the 50p price tag.

I always hope that someone interesting will sit beside me so that we can have an interesting exchange to wile away a few miles. But instead my companions have been rather taciturn. So, without feeling the slightest bit unsociable, I just immerse myself in my latest Indridason Icelandic crime novel. And if my companion, then, decides to be newsy - it's just too late 'cos I can't tear myself away from those dark, cold, menacing Reykjavik nights full of murderous intent in every alley. All I can do then, is grunt a reply.

Sometimes I can allow myself a quick break from my book, and gaze out at green fields & mountains whizzing by in a Scottish summer landscape. Last time I rested my eyes, a man approached me, from nowhere, brandishing a Swiss army knife - flicked open at the scissors tool. He held it alarmingly close to my neck. I could almost feel it prick my jugular. He held my neck still with his other hand. I didn't think I could actually call out. With some effort I found my voice and so I squealed ever so slightly at first, and then a bit more confidently.

Much to the amusement of those sitting around me! I had properly dozed off. But, embarrassing as this was, it could have been a lot worse. I'm sure I once let out a rip-roaring snore 'cos a lot of folk turned round - probably looking for a hungry polar bear!

Polly asked for any rubbish, and thankfully, things got back to normal.