Arrived within spitting distance of work today only to grind to a halt at a roundabout which was peppered with ‘Police Accident’ signs. I never know if these signs are saying that the police have caused an accident or are in an accident or are at an accident, and was none the wiser this morning as there were no police evident at the roundabout whatsoever.
Anyway, I sat at the roundabout in my little red Toyota, with two lorries and two cars ahead of me and three cars behind me. Didn’t sit there long before the queue began to move forward. Off we go, I thought. Not much of a hold up at all. We all headed towards the second exit, only to find that the outward bound lane was blocked by more ‘Police Accident’ signs (still no police in evidence, although they might have been holed up at the Muckdonald’s ‘restaurant’ (pah!) sited next to the roundabout). There were two chaps standing behind the signs, though, having just alighted from their Highways Maintenance vehicle, which was parked alongside what appeared to be a fuel spillage covered in whatever they cover fuel spillages with these days. Sawdust? Something more technological and sophisticated? Who knows? Who cares?
The first lorry continued around the roundabout and back from whence we all came. The second lorry hesitated. There was no traffic approaching the roundabout from the incoming lane. So, in the spirit of ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’ the lorry, plus the two cars in front of me, plus me in my Toyota of Jeopardy, plus the car behind me, all went for it! Like this…
Okay, so not quite like this, but it felt like it, in a quietly British ‘I’ve just paid £165 in road tax to drive on this road and drive on this road I SHALL’ kind of way.
The two chaps from Highways Maintenance were waving their arms, making passive aggressive gesticulations that we should all perform an immediate U-turn back onto the roundabout. They turned a bit officious. And a bit pink in the face. One of them, I noted, bore more than a vague resemblance to Boss Hogg. The pair of them together looked like extras from the Benny Hill Show. I knew that if one of them was to fling himself at my car, like Sheriff Cletus, and drag me out, I’d be able to outrun them easy peasy because they both looked like they partook of all the pies on a regular basis. I felt confident, like Daisy Duke in her little denim shorts and flicky hair. Except if I wore shorts I’d look more like Yogi Bear in a wig, so let’s not go there, eh?
By now, there was no way Lorry Driver Leader Person, plus the two cars ahead, plus me, plus one car behind, were going to do as we were told. No way, José! We were a convoy of renegade rule breakers, determined to travel that partially blocked 100 yards and not be sent back on a wild goose chase around single lane countryside tracks just to get where we wanted to be, which in my case was a mere 200 yards up the road, turn left, I’m at work.
It was the best ten seconds of my day! A little ‘one up for the driving public’ moment. A finger up to the Establishment. A ‘no, actually, today I am NOT going to be told what to do by a jumped up so-called ‘official’ because I’ve had it up to the back teeth AND beyond of being told what to do and how to do it for the last two and a bit years.’
Sheesh, but I’m turning into a recalcitrant old bat. Mwahahahahaha…ha!
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KJ