fluffy clouds in pink skies

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My sixth-form days {ages 16 to 18} were spent at a school in town because my village secondary school didn't offer education post-16. Every morning I hopped on the public bus to get to Town, and every evening I hopped on the public bus to get to Home. The evening bus was generally quite full. If we had no lessons, we could walk into Town Centre - through the park, past the railway station and through the huge creepy subway {the British version, which is where you walk under the road, much like a back-to-front bridge, if you will} under the roundabout, with the redundant nightclub - and get on the bus at Bus Station. But, more often than not, we had lessons and so had to get Bus from a stop nearer the school. As time went on, out of Bus Stop Boredom probably, we started walking to the next stop. Then the next stop. How far along could we get before we missed Bus? For some reason, this completely innocent thing to do caused Bus to get angry. Our Head of Sixth Form talked sternly to us. You must get Bus from the nearest stop to school, he spluttered, wagging his fingers at us. For some reason I am reminded of this every time Now-Bus arrives in Midway Town. The first stop we get to has gone from having just the one waiting passenger, to having a few, then a handful, and now it has an average of ten folk waiting at it every morning, mostly people who used to get on further along the route. This first stop is on the edge of an industrial estate, see. It's funny how seeing something so bland can ignite forgotten memories.