The world from my window

We're on the M5 when we pass a bus chuntering cheerfully along on the inside lane. It bears the livery of Gibbons Coach Holidays . As we drive by, I peer as best I can into the windows, hoping to spot a posse of long-limbed monkeys swinging down from the luggage rack, and swiftly mooning in unison from the back window. In my head I can hear the lar gibbons that used to sing and whoop, whoop, whoop across the courtyard and valley at Cricket St Thomas in the good old days when it was a wildlife park. But we overtake before my imagination overtakes me. The next coach is Hatton Premier Class Travel and I envisage sedate, upmarket passengers, all wearing tiaras and monocles. At the airport, I'm flabbergasted not to be searched, as, usually, I set off every alarm going. My laptop takes an age to come through security and I have a minor panic attack fearing that all my writing and photos have been wiped from the hard drive during the scanning process. We weave our way t...