So yesterday evening was spent rehearsing – and dare I say it, it felt quite productive. As I don’t wish to tempt fate, I will say no more about it.

Which brings me to the unmitigated horror of Tuesday – the worst day of the week – stuck in that miserable, grey, early stage, where the weekend is still far out of reach and you don’t even have the excuse that it’s Monday, for feeling miserable.

So anyway I trudged to the bus-stop this morning feeling all aggrieved and bitter.

And the bus didn’t show up. OK another bus arrived 15 minutes later, but I was feeling unreasonable and irrational. I was not a happy bunny.
I finally boarded and looked around and saw my usual morning companions – the same faces on the same bus every morning, and we always ignore each other.

Now that Angry South African Lady has abandoned me – I am assuming she purchased the car she was threatening to buy – my journey was starting to feature undiluted rage than it used to.

Until today.

As everyone’s schedule was delayed this morning there was a palpable air of displeasure and annoyance on the bus.  People were sighing and tutting all around me. And naturally it was jammed to capacity. I sat smugly in my regular seat – as I get on board at the start of the route I am guaranteed a seat – it’s the smallest things that give me pleasure really.

And then Beyonce got on the bus. As she does every morning.

Obviously I don’t mean the international pop superstar, alumnus of Destiny’s Child and mother of Blue Ivy Carter. The Beyonce I recognise is about 9 years old. Every morning she gets on the bus with her mother who brings her to school. I assume she has been named after the pop star – unless there is a history of Irish Beyonces. I doubt that somehow.

Her mother terrifies me.

It is only in the last week or so since Angry Lady departed my bus for her own car that I have noticed Beyonce and her mum.

Her mum is younger than I am, I would guess. But it is hard to be sure. Her voice is deep and gravelly, and her hacking cough – which seems to come from the depths of her soul – indicates a smoking habit of the most profound kind. I am sure that with some healthy living and some sleep she may be quite attractive. Currently however the bags underneath her eyes are truly majestic. Her voice is true Dublin but quite difficult to understand because of how croaking it sounds.

I don’t want to draw conclusions about what type of person she is but her face speaks of hard, hard living. She’s one of those lantern-jawed Dubliners that is not averse to be a bit of aggro on occasion – as evidenced this morning when she threatened to punch another mother for wheeling her buggy on Lantern-Jaw’s toe. I think the bus gave a collective gulp of terror. The poor woman that had been threatened apologised profusely. She is clearly a woman who knows how to pick her battles and had made a split second decision not to fight this battle.

Her knuckles are delicately decorated with crucifix tattoos.

As I said I cannot speak for the integrity of her character, as I do not know her.  But she was in a most foul state of rage this morning, because of the tardiness of the bus. I had a strange kind of affection for Angry South African lady.  But Beyonce’s mum merely strikes terror into my heart.

So I would issue a heartfelt plea to Dublin Bus – please be on time in future. Otherwise you are subjecting the rest of the passengers of this route to the wrath of Beyonce’s mum.