The Apostrophes Just Kept On Coming

Typing this straight into Blogger so excuse any typos. I'm just too tired to run it through a wordprocessor.

Is it just Britain that has that wonderful thing known as a 'train replacement service' whereby it's impossible to catch a train on a weekend? I spent a good few hours hour today being bounced around in the back of an empty minibus only to arrive fifty minutes late at the hospital where I found my father awake for the first time in days.

Not that he was in much of a mood for talking. Not when parents insist on taking children into hospital wards where there are seriously ill people who might not take kindly to screaming and tantrums.

Which reminds me to ask: why do nurses close the drapes around a bed and then proceed to describe in a loud voice what indignities they're performing on the patient? Today I heard the following monologue which went on for a while longer than I'll describe and in far greater detail. 'Let's have them down, shall we Peter? That's right... And now the other leg. Oh, what a mess you've made! I bet you don't do this at home!'

And why do buses always make you realise that your home town is really a hell? Or is it just like this on a Saturday?

Why do the government help families visit relatives in prison but don't help the low paid to visit parents in hospital?

However, you see some interesting things from the back of a bus, including my new favourite example of apostrophe misuse. Presented in classic bronze lettering next to a letterbox, not ten minutes from my own doorstep, was the following plaque:

The Jones'es'

Well, it amused me on a day otherwise free of laughter creases...