It's morning again. I'm up for it. Spent two hours yesterday in the gym, working the step machine and weights. Knew I was going to feel a bit sore today, but I knew I needed the preparation. It's getting tougher out there all the time.
I do a little shadow boxing in front of the hall mirror - a quick one-two. Now I'm ready. Bring 'em on.
It's 8.30 when I leave the house and walk down to the road. I feel a slight shiver as I round the corner. Not sure whether it's the cold or just pre-match nerves. I'm always a little anxious until I see who the competition is.
There are four there already. I count them off as I approach: man with brown briefcase looking agitated; woman with carrier bag chatting to woman without carrier bag; student with backpack staring into space. As I cross the road, I notice a fifth: girl with Walkman lurking behind the shelter. Her I recognise, the others not. She beat me about a fortnight ago but I've edged her out twice since. She's a threat, of course. Everyone is. But I'll have tougher competition yet. The real pros don't arrive until late.
I take Ulysses from my bag and pretend to read, periodically glancing from behind the cover to observe the opposition. Normally, I prefer a hardback book (the sharp corners come in handy in closequarter combat). But paperbacked Ulysses has been good to me of late. What it lacks as a weapon it more than makes up as an instrument of deception. People see the title and write me off as a dreamer, an also-ran. Little do they know.
Sudden movement
Suddenly, there is a flurry of movement. Brown Briefcase Man is on his tippy-toes. He has spotted something up the road. He glances at his watch and straightens his tie. Chatting Ladies line up behind him, then Student Backpack. Walkman Girl edges forward, though with no real conviction. She knows, as I do, there's no point going for the first one.
It comes closer, crawling behind a long line of cars. The windscreen is clouded over with condensation, but I can just about make out a mass of tightly packed bodies. It's only 10 yards away and still no indicator, a sure sign this 48A is not for the taking. Chatting Ladies step back from the kerb but there's no stopping Brown Briefcase Man. He's waving his hands. Now he's shouting: "Ho. . .halt!" I can't help but giggle.
The great behemoth trundles past. Brown Briefcase Man takes out his mobile phone to cancel a 9 o'clock appointment.
While that distraction was taking place two more people had arrived: a guy in a suit, and a good-looking girl who isn't dressed for this weather. It's hard to tell whether they're together. They aren't talking to each other but that means nothing.
Rush-hour service
A 17 came and went, picking up Student Backpack - on his way to Carysfort, no doubt, the sprightly young scut. Just wait until he joins the world of work. Rush-hour service every day will soon wipe that smile off his face.
It's gone five past nine and brown briefcase man is starting to show the strain. He's tugging at his collar and looking at his watch more than is healthy. I can tell he is thinking: "Cut my losses - take a taxi." But just then he spots something. He turns around at me and glares.
I glance up the road. It's a 44. That'll do. It's a slower bus from a longer route and, therefore, more of a health risk. But if I stay downstairs where the air circulation is better I've a decent chance of making it into town without catching anything.
It crawls closer and I see the indicator coming on. Good Looking Girl creeps up on the shoulder of Brown Briefcase Man. Walkman Girl goes with the break. It's five yards away now. Walkman Girl changes her position. She can see the driver is braking late. She ducks behind Good Looking Girl and blocks the path of Chatting Ladies. Brown Briefcase Man is now hopelessly out of position.
The screech of brakes loudens. The bus stops, then shunts forward. Now, now I go.
The doors open. Walkman Girl makes her move but Guy In Suit rounds Chatting Ladies to cut her off. As I approach, I hear the driver announce: "I'll take one only." Chatting Lady With Bag says, "I was here first." She puts a hand on Walkman Girl's shoulder.
A gap opens between Walkman Girl and Goodlooking Girl and I go for it, head down, Ulysses under one arm. Guy In Suit spots me, though, and pushes Walkman Girl back. I've a foot on the first step when Walkman Girl sees me too. Her elbow comes back. I guard my ribs with Ulysses but the force of her blow still winds me. I stoop down and it's then when I see her. She is wearing her trademark purple beret and has a wheelie bag in tow.
Lone figure
She must have spotted a gap between me and Walkman Girl because she is between us now, ducking under my left elbow, leaping onto the first step. Her wheelie bag comes next. It hits the step and ricochets straight into my open mouth.
I fall backwards as she disappears into the bus, a lone figure charging free as the the scrum, deflated, collapses behind her. What a move! Reminiscent of that try Italy scored against us in Rome when yer man nipped through a gap on the line untouched.
I step back dazed, and as ever a little awestruck. How does Mrs Felt Hat do it? Is there some sort of manual you get with the bus pass, I wonder?
The doors close and the bus moves off. I steady myself for the next assault. Ah, the joys of commuting by Dublin Bus.