Archive for the 'Driving' Category

Let me set the scene for you: it’s 1.30am, and there’s that misty kind of rain in the air that gives a faint white glow against the black, clouded backdrop that is the sky. The rain, in its swirling droves, wafts downwards from the dark heavens, before settling on a car cruising into the night. In the car, soft and mellow music pours beautifully loudly from the speakers, and a young man inside gently nods his head, knowing that his ears are probably bleeding from the noise. He strokes his hair back from across his face as he’d gotten so used to doing over the years, and catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the rear view mirror; his bloodshot eye, barely open, holds its own gaze, broken only by the vibration of the music in the mirror.

He could feel these vibrations making his eyes wobble about in his skull a little bit, so that the world had a soft edge to it, making it look that bit more comfortable and warm. He turned the heating down a notch or two and adjusted himself in his seat, trying to fit into the right niche in his habitual comfort zone that he knew so well. Settling, he changed up into fifth gear, the rain silently diffusing the view until the wipers made all clear again. Despite its valiant efforts, the rain wasn’t going to win this battle. Especially when they sent in all their wimps, they were easy picking for the wipers, no matter how weak the wipers were themselves. He chuckled to himself and pulled his hair back from his face again.

He was feeling good. Really fucking good. Just like that scene in Trainspotting when Renton tries heroin for the first time after getting off the stuff. That’s a really fucking good film, but he couldn’t stand to watch the part where Renton was going cold turkey after his overdose, it just weirded him out too much, that was all. He could remember the time his dad had first shown him that film, in a rather vain attempt to put him off drugs. He’d always been a druggie at heart, even before he ever started using them. The drugs were in fact a mere finishing touch to the druggie look and mentality he’d managed to develop over the years without meaning to.

Despite all this he was always impressed with the fact that he was still clever enough to do his job to a good standard and have ambition to take things further. He knew that everyone looked at him as some stoner kid, but he knew in his very inner cores that he was destined for something successful. Quite what success was, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was planning to find out as soon as he could.

As he pulled up to the junction, the street lights began to illuminate everything slowly, and he realised that the car behind him was a police car. He had been slowing down for a while, just coasting with the clutch down, knowing that the road was slightly down hill. He pulled out onto the main road with added caution. As he continued, he calmed down slightly, and then the police vehicle flashed his lights and signalled him to pull over. His heart sank - he couldn’t go through this again. The last time it had happened he’d thrown up minutes afterwards. With a shaking hand he slowly pushed the button to wind down his window. The policeman stepped out of the car and walked towards him. Time seemed to slow right down. Every footstep the policeman took, he felt years crawl past with agonising lethargy. Suddenly, he snapped to, and the policeman peered in the window.

The thing about adrenaline is that it fucks up your brain so you can’t think. You feel scatty, like you’ve had too many cups of coffee at work, and you can’t focus properly on one thing. The policeman said something, presumably to step out of the car. He stepped out, wondering how on earth his legs were still managing to work, despite being apparently made out of soup. His heart was visibly beating in his narrow ribcage, his hands trembling meekly inside his sleeves. The policeman told him he’d been going too fast, and he nodded, and for some god-unknown reason tried to deny that he’d been going that fast. The policeman refuted these claims, and asked had he been drinking. He said “no”, quickly, in a way that only someone can say when they’re nearly pooing themselves. The policeman mumbled something into his radio, and pressed his finger to his ear. He apologised, and asked again if the young man had been drinking. Again, he said he hadn’t. The policeman pressed his hand to his ear again, listening and frowning. The policeman wandered round the car, checking it over. The young man was noticeably scared, he hunched himself against the cold and looked up, terrified. The policeman wandered back to the police car, told the young man to take it easy, and drove off.

The young man took a while to comprehend the previous three minutes as he sat in his stationary car. Slowly, an elation floated up through him as he realised that he was off the hook. He was free. It was all OK. He began to chuckle once more, and started the engine. By the time he’d driven a mile, he was laughing away to himself, unable to contain his stoned glee. He phoned his mate, to whom he described the situation. His mate laughed, and then hung up.

True story.

Srsly.

I really, honestly don’t use this blog enough. It’s got to the stage now where every time I write a blog post, there’s a new point release of WordPress which I’m being begged to upgrade to.

Anyway, back to using my blog. I’ve now moved out of Cambridge, and am residing at my parents’ house, but I haven’t so much moved in as dumped everything I own on my bedroom floor and picked bits out as required. On Thursday night I finished loading all of my stuff into my dad’s car (with the help of Dave), and cruised back to Tring to get completely off my tits. Moving out of a house is one of the most stressful things I’ve ever done, as well as tiring. It didn’t really put me in the best of moods for the start of my weekend.

So, on Friday morning, I picked up Lemming and we headed up to Edinburgh to see Ellie and Toby. They’re doing really well up there - they have a really nice flat a short jaunt from all the action, which, seeing as it was the start of the legendary Fringe that weekend, was pretty cool. Me, Toby, Lemming and Ned (Toby’s brother) went to see Ed Aczel doing one of the most peculiar stand-up performances I’ve ever witnessed, but one of the funniest. If you’re not familiar with his work, I strongly suggest you check him out.

On Sunday morning, feeling absolutely hideously ill, I hopped onto Facebook to see what was going down with my bre’ars. Before the next part of my story, I should provide you with a little context - for the previous 2 weeks I’d been getting increasingly close to a girl who I’d liked for a long time. Said girl, according to Facebook, had just started going out with someone else, after deciding I wasn’t really her type and not thinking it a good idea to let me know about it. Meanwhile, I had been slowly piling all of my proverbial eggs into a single, lonely, proverbial basket.

So, you can imagine the absolute joy I felt, when driving home on Sunday night, I looked in my rear mirror to see a police Volvo T5 flashing its blues at me and signalling me to pull over. Oh shit, I thought to myself, I was absolutely missioning it just then. Given that the national speed limit in Scotland, as it is in England, is 60mph, it seems that the police were none to happy with the fact that I’d done an average of 118.9mph across their well-placed trap on a beautiful straight on the A702, heading South. While what I had done usually carried a charge of dangerous driving, the officers who pulled me over in all their wisdom decided that I hadn’t actually been driving dangerously, just speeding.

As it currently stands, (and this is the pisstake), I am due to appear in court in Scotland, where I will most likely be disqualified from driving for 3-6 months, and receive a fine of several hundred pounds. All credit to Lemming from stopping me from completely losing it on the rest of the way home. Driving 300 miles when you’re pissed off and afraid of breaking the speed limit but desperate to get home is difficult unless you have someone to reassure you and play some phat jungle beats.

So, for the past 4 days (I think), I’ve been consistently alternating between being high as a kite, and working from home, with the company of various friends, mainly Farrar and Dave who’ve stopped me going completely nuts, as well as visits from others - notably Becci, who offered to help me tidy up the place (which ended up as her tidying up the place while I stood around being useless).

All in all, things haven’t been going that well for me, and they’ll probably get worse once I have to pick my parents up from the airport on Tuesday, when I have to explain to them why I need to go to Scotland again. But never mind, for I have my health and a nearly cheery demeanour, so I mustn’t complain.

Night night, chow heads!

WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS?!

The council has absolutely ruined the roads in and around Aylesbury. “How?” I hear you ponder, “surely they have not done what I think they have!”

Well, they have. The fact is, everywhere you drive around Aylesbury, you will most likely see both of the following signs.

I have no argument with the this first one - it’s there for a good reason. And, most of the time I respect the laws that this sign says I must, on pain of a fine and being kicked halfway to my license being revoked. These first signs are placed where they are for a very good reason: the area in which the limit applies is a residential one, where people are likely to be walking about, and it keeps them safe; or perhaps there is a junction ahead which is either complex or you will be likely to stop, and staying at a low speed such as 30mph will keep you overally safe.

The second of these signs is a different kettle of fish altogether. This one is one that has recently come into play anywhere that there was previously a 40 or 50mph speed limit. This sign spells the end for sensible speed limits in this country. If what I have read in the news is true, then our towns will slowly become subject to this.

While I appreciate that the government is attempting to save lives by making us drive more slowly, it is not the people who are driving at the speed limit who are having the accidents. It is the people who are driving at speeds in excess of the speed limits imposed on our roads who lose control of their cars, or can’t stop in time when somebody pulls out (or even walks out) in front of their car.

Why do they think that forcing everybody to drive at 30 is going to stop these people? Now I don’t claim to be someone who sticks to the speed limit all the time - in fact I’m a pretty terrible driver with regard to speeding - but the fact is, since these new signs have sprung up around Aylesbury, if anything, I’ve been driving faster than before. I don’t even know why! This troubles me greatly.

To finish my whinge, I would like to complain about the stretch of road between the end of the Aston Clinton bypass and the Bedgrove roundabout, which until now, was a glorious national speed limit stretch of road. It is a 1500 yard long single carriageway, which is generously wide and used to be perfect for a 60 mph drive, but now they have imposed a 40 mph limit on this road. I am saddened.