A late flight last night and an early bus this morning took me to Springfield, Mo. I had to be a bit careful because there was another bus leaving St Louis Greyhound Station fifteen minutes prior to mine that was going to Springfield, Il. As I know very well by now they aren’t particularly close to each other. Greyhound has a bit of a reputation for transporting some interesting clientele, shall we say. On this trip I have probably been on at least ten Greyhound buses and so far, so good. In the queue to board the bus this morning was an older bloke, the typical gobshite character you often come across in everyday life. He was telling anyone who’d listen stories about his days in the marines, his numerous girlfriends, and all sorts of other bollocks. They weren’t great anecdotes by any means and they probably weren’t even true! He was also very loud so I was keen to sit at the other end of the bus. Next to me an equally loud passenger seated herself. I wasn’t in a conversing mood so I put my headphones on to listen to some music. This didn’t stop her rabbiting away to me. She appeared to have a lot of drama going on in her life and was constantly texting her boyfriend, ex-boyfriend and child custody lawyer, all of which I was told about in detail. She was travelling with her boyfriend’s mother who was sitting next to Action Man/Cassanova near the back of the bus. I certainly wasn’t offering to swap seats! While speaking to the boyfriend’s mother my neighbour stumbled and ended up on Action Man’s lap. He apparently made some suggestive comments, to which in no uncertain terms, she called him a dirty old bastard. He kept saying that she was throwing herself at him and she was screaming all sorts of stuff at him down the bus. I thought the driver was going to call the police but eventually (after another passenger told them to shut up) it all calmed down! After all of this fun and games we eventually arrived at Springfield Greyhound Station, located on the famous Route 66. While this sounds nice, it is a also a couple of miles away from my city centre hotel. I couldn’t figure out the bus system and with no idea about taxis I had to walk it.

Springfield has a nice enough city centre with a few good bars. There seemed to be plenty of drinking going on, possibly with it being a bank holiday weekend. I found a great pub with all pints being $2.75 in the all-day Sunday happy “hour”, a quiz taking place and friendly patrons who seemed slightly bemused about what I was doing in Springfield.

Fortunately I missed the England managerial debut of Sam Allardyce, or Sam Allardaché
as he has referred to himself as, or Fat Sam the **** as he is better known as in our house. It’s almost three months to the day since I started this journey and if someone had told me then that Allardyce would be England manager and Theresa May would be Prime Minister I’d have questioned their faculties.