This week has been all about travelling slowly. Not through choice, I might add.
On Monday, I had to work in that London. SE8, to be more exact.
I left in plenty of time… or so I thought. But I hadn’t taken into account that London is a shit-hole of a place to drive in. The last 3 miles took me nearly an hour. The journey home was a barrel of laughs too.
The following day, I was working in the same place and so I left even earlier, but also took a different route in. All seemed to be going well, as I flew along the various motorways, before grinding to a halt somewhere behind City Airport. As we inched along at a snails pace, I noticed in my rear view mirror, a rather attractive blond in an Audi, behind me. I took even more notice when she started taking her top off. Because of the Audi’s steering wheel, I couldn’t tell if she was wearing a slip or was just sitting in her bra.
I watched as she started to put her face on. The full works: mascara; moisturiser ( I think); lipstick. All very well, but I wondered why she had removed her jumper.
And then she started shaving under her arms, with a razor.
I kid ye not!
Then she started doing her hair, taking it down and brushing it before putting it up again. Then doing it again. And again. I half expected her to produce a hair dryer and tongs.
Eventually, we got past the roadworks that were causing the hold up and went our separate ways.
Again, I was late for work.
Wednesday was my final day there, and I left even earlier and took a further different route, but still struggled to arrive on time.
Problem is: I’m not a London driver. I’m too polite. Whenever I found myself in the wrong lane (which was more often than not), rather than barge my way in, as the other drivers were doing, I’d find myself driving in the wrong direction for a couple of miles before being able to make a U-turn.
Sat-Nav didn’t help. “In one hundred yards, turn left” is alright elsewhere, but in that London “In one hundred yards, turn left, but be aware that the road quickly narrows and if you don’t get in the right-hand lane straight away, you’re fucked”, would be far more useful.
The other problem with Sat-Nav is that it picks up on slow or stationary traffic and tries to re-route your journey through the more minor roads. Unfortunately, the minor roads are also chock full but being minor roads, there are no sensors to inform Sat Nav of this. So, on my journey home on Wednesday, I decided to ignore Sat Nav and use The Force to get home. Unfortunately, The Force told me the A13 would be the best route to take, but it was completely unaware of the accident that had closed one lane. Another shit journey.
Yesterday, I was was working up in Birmingham. I left early as Mrs M wanted me to attend Amelia’s parents evening at school. The M1 had other ideas though and an accident in the fast lane, through the roadworks, brought the motorway to a standstill. My usual 100 minute journey actually took over three and a half hours.
I missed parents evening.
Today though, I am working from home, because I can.
And because it’s my birthday.