Inspiring People

I think I have come up with the perfect solution.

I hit 60 some time ago, and didn’t want to be a danger to other road users, so decided on a trip – to the M25. The journey was planned, so the day before departure the car was checked properly – water, oil, tyres, windscreen washer. The navigator was sent to the shops for provisions, so on this lovely sunny August day we set off mid morning from our home on the south coast. I had suggested that I might need a shovel and chains for the tyres in case of snow, but co-pilot told me not to be stupid. Or some such suitable words.

Plan ahead.

As well as provisions and preparations, I had a map in my head. These new-fangled sat-navs are all well and good, but there’s nothing like old fashioned common sense when it comes to map reading, and I knew my way to the M23 junction with the M25, and the M25 goes round for 119 miles in either direction, so I knew it all. But just in case, I took my road map of the UK, as you sometimes hear of the M25 being blocked, and I didn’t want to add to the congestion.

Was my journey really necessary? Well, yes, to me it was.

To the right or left?

Not such a daft question, as comfort stops had to be considered, and there are not that many M25 service areas. Home to M25 = roughly one hour, M25 east to Clacketts Lane = less than half an hour, M25 west = a long way. East is was then, and filtered into the slow lane, joining between two lorries, one from Rumania, the other Poland. No problem there, then, reactions excellent, no adverse horn-blowing from other M25 users, and full of confidence I indicated and then manoeuvred into the middle lane. Soon we were doing 70mph, just keeping up with the traffic flow, and I knew that the old abilities hadn’t faded. No problems, and then it was comfort break time.

Tiffin Time

We parked up, looked at each other, and said ‘That wasn’t too bad’. Tiffin time, so out came the sandwiches and bottled water. Corned beef and mustard pickle for yours truly, cheese and tomato for co-driver. Suitably refreshed, we went inside to avail ourselves of the facilities.

Like Willie Nelson, we’re on the road again.

Fortunately, I had filled the tank to the top when leaving the seaside, so ignored the extortionate prices of the services petrol station. We drove past with our noses in the air, and filtered back into the slow lane between two more lorries, this time from France and Belgium. Have you ever noticed how huge foreign trucks seem to be compared with English ones? Eddie Stobart seems to be such a clean gentleman, with green livery and ladies names on the side. Back into the middle lane, accelerating to over 70mph to keep up with the traffic flow, and it’s all easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

A lovely day, the sun is shining, and before I knew it I was looking at the aircraft flying low over the motorway coming in to land at Heathrow.

Those pesky speed cameras!

What I want to know is, how fast over the limit do you have to speed before getting a ticket? I was going at the rigid 70mph every time I went under a camera gantry, and there were cars going past in the outside lanes at least twenty faster than me. Were the cars stolen? Were the drivers insured? Did they have someone to take the rap for them like some politicians? I didn’t come under any of these categories, so kept to the speed limit.

Home again

Safe and sound, back home again, we asked ourselves, what lesson has been learned? Quite simple, really, every few years, repeat the exercise, just to check that reactions, responses, and memory are all there, and don’t publicise it too much. Otherwise, the M25 will be full of old people.