I boarded the bus south from Aberdeen with my former student F and her husband W. They took two seats facing forwards, and I found a seat across the aisle opposite them. This one faced the back of the bus, and here I shared a small table with a man in a wheelchair.

I said hello to my neighbour, then watched him as he chomped noisily on nicotine gum, twitching in his seat. Here was someone suffering from the restrictions on smoking on public transport. Then he rolled a cigarette. When he reached for his lighter, the driver stopped the bus, wrestled the man to the floor, then threw him and his wheelchair out onto the road. The problem passenger dealt with, we continued on our way.

When BR, ER and TPR joined the service at Dundee, I warned B of the possible consequences of smoking on a bus. TPR then entertained us with eye-witness stories of the recent antics of my sister S in the city: playing in a gig, drinking neat gin straight from the bottle, and indulging in unspeakable acts in dark alleyways.