Tess: I know this sounds silly, (coy giggle) but how can the driver drive if daddy is snoring in the night?
(Probably a disingenuous question to work her way in. I explain that the bus engine is usually louder than any random snorer within said bus).
Tess: (sudden righteousness) But what about the other people? Like the people going to Aviemore?!
(I see a clutch of outdoor fanatics in North Face jackets and woolly hats sitting bolt upright on the Teenage Fanclub tour bus as the band snore peacefully in trademark harmonies. The bus hurtles on through various European cities where the band wake and can't escape the desire to apologise for Brexit, either verbally or with resigned shrugs).
Tess: Well, maybe the people going to Russia?!
I explain further about the bunk beds with curtains. I'm glad I'm not in the bunk beds with curtains.
Tess: So is the bus, like, the size of this room?
Me: No, it's....bus-shaped. A cuboid.
(I'm pleased I have crow-barred in the word cuboid, as homework this week is the difference between a cube and a cuboid).
Ah well, back to the ol' poetry lark. The metaphorical bus tour of the mind. Where to next?
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