Astrid was considerably perplexed about the bus timetable. She had bought a ticket and boarded a bus bound for Thrushton. Although she didn’t know the area like the back of her hand, she was relatively sure the bus was heading for the township of Thistlegrove instead.
Being of rather shy temperament she never said a word, neither to another passenger nor to the bus driver. She simply sat upright and fretted, clutching her purse and the string of garlic (of all things!) that she was bringing as a gift to her old friend, Connie, who had moved house to Thrushton.
The bus stop sign said Thistlegrove. “All off”, said the bus driver.
“I thought this bus was going to Thrushton,” said Astrid when alighting.
“Nah,” said the driver. “You must’ve been reading an old timetable.”
The bus drove off. Astrid stood in the street of Thistlegrove not knowing what to do. A (rather handsome) man approached.
“You look a bit lost,” he said to Astrid. “Can I help?”
It was love at first sight. For both. Today, six kids, eighteen grandchildren, and twenty-six great-grandchildren later, Astrid still has the string of garlic. And she reckons it’s all the bus company’s fault.