Superwoman, better known as Betty from Dawlish, had a rather exciting ride on the bus this morning. The sun was shining and she had the feeling she should be out in it (albeit on a bus for some of the time); and what finer place is there to visit than Newton Abbot on market day?

“May I sit next to you?” asked a tall gentleman with a cultured South African accent.

Now Superwoman was quite enjoying the comfort of occupying a whole seat (meant for two thin people) all to herself and yet, part of her pleasure in taking the bus, apart from taking a well-deserved rest from flying, is meeting new and interesting people.

“Certainly!” she answered, sitting up to attention. (“This could be interesting,” she thought to herself.)

“And I don’t suppose you’d let me hold your hand if I asked you?” the suave fellow suggested.

“I don’t mind if you do,” Superwoman was vastly amused, especially considering that she was in her Betty persona at the time.

The South African removed a glove and held her hand.

“My dear, your hand is warm,” he said admiringly.

“And yours is cold!” Betty laughed, careful not to break his fingers as she warmed his hand in her own.

“I hope we’ll meet again one day,” the charming chap shook Betty’s hand as he stood to get off at Teignmouth.

And on the phone later on….

“How old was he?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know – about eighty, or in his eighties, I suppose,” Mum replied, still laughing. “We didn’t discuss ages.”

“Ah, a toyboy! And did you arrange to meet again?”

“No, but… he knows I like to take the bus to Newton on a Wednesday…”