Talullah and I have just returned from brief weekend in West Oxfordshire to visit sis and mater. Arrived home (stinking of gin... well, gingerbread latte, anyway) at 4pm on Saturday and left at 3pm on Sunday having spent 9 hours asleep. Funny to think that my parents always used to comment that I treated my home like a hotel - I always used to deny it when a teenager but now i'm in my 30s it feels like I do it on a regular basis.
Have realised how much I dislike the M6 toll road. It's not so much that tallulah and I resent paying money to travel down a road it's just that it's so...soul-less.
For those of you unfamiliar with aforesaid expressway imagine a scaled up model railway diorama with roads instead of rails but with the grass along the verge still looking like it's made of:
a) green flock sprinked over pvc adhesive
or
b) fake green plastic turf (the kind that for some reason often lines the bottom of butcher shop windows. i don't know why - perhaps the butcher is trying to create the impression that it's perfectly natural to see skinned and dismembered animals frolicking amongst leafy pastures).
To be fair, the trees might be nice when the've exceeded their current height of two feet.
I feel that a road one has to pay to travel along should have some form of entertainment - perhaps a group of minstrels in a car that keep pace with you, or an escapologist trying to free himself from the tartan straps that lash him to the roof rack of a Ford Cortina.
Would some dancing girls be too much to ask?
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2 comments:
I just came home on the very road and enjoyed it's traffic-free-ness very much. It was dark so I couldn't see the offensiveness. Indeed, the service station didn't smell of bacon, so it's officially my favourite service station of the week. And believe me, I've see at few in the last 10 days.
ps I was dancing in my car, you just travelled at the wrong time.
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