And Then, A tad Costly...

   As an avid, dribbling reader of the Guardigroan, I see that those early to switch to lekky powered cars are getting a tad shocked when renewing their insurance. Up to five thousand pounds a year? That, it would seem, is if they can even find an insurance outfit willing to offer insurance for a potential bomb. Boy, wot a bummer. At least they don’t have to get Road Tax. Yet. Whoa! Double bummer.
    Should’ve gone clockwork eh? Okay, possibly a big wind-up key but it’d always be in the boot ready for use. Or possibly a smallish key in the dashboard linked via a series of chain loops?
    And what of public transport we’re all being encouraged to use? Wot’ll be the insurance cost for public buses when they all go electric? Will customer trip costs rise dramatically to cover that? I need to ask? Lekky lorries? Boom go delivery costs. I’ve no idea how those costs will be covered. Really? Okay, I’ll hazard a silly guess; by us...
    Slowly, slowly it becomes ever clearer that Net Zero really means wot us down here will be allowed to own or be allowed to do and has nothing at all to do with ‘saving the planet’.

Quote; George Gobel.

“If it weren't for electricity, we'd all be watching television by candlelight.”

And Then, No Organ...

   After refilling my pill poppin’ time accelerator this morning, I got to thinking. Then, on reflection, now thinking, I possibly should’ve started thinking before sorting my meds for the coming week... Never mind, it’ll be over directly after it’s started.
   Anyhoo, as one and all now know our seekers of truth in the media have been running constant fear features since right at the start of co-co; and a long time before.
   One of their features was the length of time folk were having to wait for their new driving licence. Oh grief, the other day I get a reminder to renew mine as I’m old and it’s only valid for three years at a go. Is it going to take three years?
   Anyhoo, I girded up my loins – not a pretty sight – and went onto the Wibbly Wobbly Webbely to complete the application form. All straight forward apart from getting past the organ donor section. I could find no way to bypass this section as we have never had an organ or even a piano. In fact no form of keyboard whatsoever.
   I finally got through it, even the bit asking if, in the event of a fatal accident, I wanted to donate my head to the Society For The Preservation Of Areas Of Total Wilderness.
   All done and submitter and an E-mail received stating that once they’d confirmed my identity and I really didn’t have a keyboard of any form, my application would be processed so, according to the ‘news’ media, I looked forward to many a month wait.
   That was on the fourth of this month and on the seventh of this month I was in receipt of one of they dreaded official brown envelopes. Damn! Who wants some of my money now? Guess wot. New licence. Four days all-up. Spot on media seekers of truth, eh?

Quote;  Morris West.

“If you spend your whole life waiting for the storm, you'll never enjoy the sunshine.”

And Then A Third…

   Recently, I’ve re-posted a couple of old posts regards my driving abilities coupled with age. Yesterday I was searching for something and ran into yet another driving post. Is that another pun? This one is from way back in 2011 and it seems I’d already declared myself old even then. Enjoy and relate to this wot’s below y’all of an age.
   We've touched on the bendy down thing before and how, as the years pass, getting down, slowly, on all fours becomes the favoured method for picking stuff up. You also have to consider the amount of time required to get back up, so it's also advantageous to wait 'till there are several items down there to pick up so you can get it done in a oner.
   The other thing I've noticed over the past, oh, I don't know, couple of years? is my diminishing ability to.... Sorry? Say what? No, no that's er, no, really, I'm er, I can still, er, you know, I, er... Anyway, moving right along, what I was coming to was driving.
   After a lifetime of driving it's all become a completely different game. Remembering my younger days, I always seemed to get stuck, on twisty, windy roads, behind some old sod in front just dawdling along. I guess you've guessed it; I feel I'm now that old sod in front.
   Now, when I come to a junction or roundabout, I stop, look left, look right, look left, look right and... wait!! Is that a car coming? Four hundreds yards up the road? Looks like he's moving pretty fast! Better wait. Time passes and eventually he passes. Okay, look left, look right. All clear. Hang on, it's been a couple of seconds since I looked left. Look left, all clear. One last check to the right. Cool. Check rear view mirror for absolutely no reason. Whoa! Where did all those cars behind me come from? Time's passed again, so better check left and right again. Looks good. One more left and right, just to be sure, and off we go!
   Half way across the junction, I remember to indicate my intended direction of travel.
   Just up the way and I'm out of the thirty MPH zone and on the open road so it's foot down and away we go!
   This is when all the traffic I'd accumulated at the junction starts tearing past me. 'Tearing' as my old brain perceives it. I doubt they're breaking fifty... Seems they know me as they all give me a wave of some sort as they whizz past me. I don't recognize anyone, my eyes not being what they were an' all, but I politely wave back.
   Reversing? I remember well the days that if I saw a parking space, I just hit reverse and whipped in there. Now? Any reverse situation is a heart racing, adrenalin pumping, eye straining adventure to be avoided whenever possible.
   Long story short? You young folk, please remember, next time you find yourself stuck behind that old sod in front, that, all too quickly, there's a good chance you'll become that old sod in front.
   Or is it just me? No. Not possible. I can't be everywhere.
Addendumadodad; Some parts of this story have been modified for dramatic effect. I think it's the fifth 'er' in the third paragraph.

Quote;  Abraham Lincoln.

“In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”

And Then, I Repeat Myself…

   Yesterday, over at Head Rambles, reversing was mentioned. Now this was in relation to cutting grass but did, however, remind me of an old post along the lines of four old guys going round a roundabout. Not sure how long ago I posted this – it could’ve been yesterday – but here it is again.
   You old? You still driving? You may well empathise with this.
   Yesterday we needed some stuff from some shops. So far, so what? So we headed to one of they big out of town retail parks.
   I kind o' knew what to expect, from a car drivers point of view, and wasn't disappointed. The place was huge and the car park matched the hugeness. And why, despite the hugeness of these car parks, are the driveways between the rows of parking bays so narrow? And why, once parked between the white lines of the individual spaces, does it only leave enough room to crack the car doors open enough to exit your car in the manner of a racing snake? To maximise the usage of the space of course. Man, give us another six inches on each bay; please.
   Anyhoo, although it was Monday, it soon became apparent that every car owner in the country awoke with the same idea as us as the car park, as big as it was, was full and there was a continuous crawl of nose to tail cars prowling relentlessly round the driveways between the parking slots. All movement came to a temporary halt when a departing car made its move and the faster of two cars, the one in front of the procession heading this way or the one leading the others going that way, made a swoop on the slot. If you've ever been in one of these merry-go rounds, with no sight of the exit, you'll know there's nothing merry about it. Misery-go round sums it up.
   Then, at what felt like close to closing time for the shops, a slot! Right in front of us! Time to make my swoop. Sadly, that move was left behind many years ago and swooping into one of these minute slots isn't for those of rapidly advancing years. You out there not yet advancing, don't laugh; you'll be there in the mere selection of reverse gear.
   I tentatively made my turn but, as you all know, because of the narrowness of the driveways and waiting traffic 'swooping in' nose first is always pretty much doomed to failure. I wasn't disappointed.
   Okay, let's do that manoeuvre that, after a certain age should be avoided at all costs; reverse into the slot. This took a few frantic wheel pulling manoeuvres in the driveway until I was as satisfied with my initial approach angle as I was ever going to be and my adrenaline level was at the required level for those of age attempting this move, maximum and pumping.
   With waves and smiles of thanks to the now motionless vehicles followed by frantic head and eye movements to check that mirror, this mirror and that other mirror, a twist of the neck to look out the side and back windows to confirm the mirrors were showing a true image of what was out there, pull forward a bit, go back a bit repeatedly in an attempt to get an equal three inches of door opening space each side, the manoeuvre was finally completed and I sat there feeling like a wrung out rag with mixed emotions. A great sense of euphoria that I'd done it coupled with waves of exhaustion washed over me. Her in the next seat offered up words of praise and comfort along the lines of, "Quick; shop shut soon."
   As we walked to the shops, although I knew the manoeuvre had taken some considerable time to complete, as anyone of an age will readily understand, the time taken became all the more apparent as I noted the number of people hastily repacking picnic kit and impromptu barbecue areas back into their vehicles as the sedentary flow of traffic round the car park resumed unhindered by an old guy going backwards.
   Upon returning to the car, as I ruminated on the rediscovery of my reversing ability I thought about and was momentarily, I repeat, momentarily, tempted to make the ten mile journey home in reverse.

Quote;  Judith Orloff.

“When you feel stuck in reverse, take a breath and let go.”

And Then A Good Deed…

   Driving along to the store and remembered I needed cash so pulled into a gas station to use the forecourt ATM thingy.
   Did the necessary, pocketed cash and card, turned towards the car and heard and saw a very old guy lying on the deck squawking and writhing in pain. Wot to do? I went over, knelt down, not easy at my age, took the old guys head off the deck, under my arm and tried communicating.
   Through huge sobs he managed to indicate that he was heading to pay for gas when his left leg just quit and he crashed to the ground.
   I managed to ‘roll’ him into a position to leave his hurt leg unobstructed and by this time the gas station manager ran up to lend assistance.
   After about ten minutes he assured us he was now getting feeling back in the naughty leg so the boss and I got him standing and walked him to his car.
   A young lady then came over, asked the old guy if he was sure he was okay to drive, where he lived and that she would follow to ensure he got home safely.
   With that, I carried on about my business and it wasn’t until some time later I thought, wait a writhing minute here! He said he was heading to pay for gas didn’t he? He didn’t, we got him back to his car and with following help, he drove home.
   Now I’m quietly confident it was all quite genuine, right down to the grazed and bleeding elbow, but…

Quote;  Billy Joel.

“You'll learn more from your accidents than anything that you could ever learn at school.”

And Then, A Driving Game…

   Another cold, wet day where we be but we still went out for a bit. With weather in mind, please click this blue bit and see how, as ever, A K Haart hits the climate nail firmly and factually on the head.
   The bit we went out for was food of course. Anyhoo, I encountered several incidents of a recurring thingy I’m sure all you drivers are familiar with.
   Tootling along past rows of parked cars and up ahead you see a truck or van parked amongst the parked cars making or just completed a delivery? These vehicles are obviously wider than a car so wot you see is their light indicating they’re, you assume, about to pull out.
   Wot to do? Wot I tend to do is the courteous thing and slow down to allow the guy to get out and on with his working day which, sadly, delays all the traffic behind me probably comprising many folk wanting to get on with their days work. Then, seeing the drivers reluctance to pull out, I flash my headlights. This kind of offsets the frantic flashing I’m receiving from behind. Still seeing no movement, I proceed with caution much to the delight of all my new pals behind.
   Nine out of ten times, on drawing level with the delivery vehicle, I see that wot I’d taken to be signalling to turn out was in fact the offside, only visible hazard light flashing.
   Hazard lights for wot? Approaching traffic won’t see two or three plus feet of a wagon sticking out from a line of parked cars?
   Lets give that no never mind and have a number linked to by Ripper in the post comments. Don’t be instantly put off by the genre, let it run and pay attention to the lyrics. So refreshing coming from the young, aimed at the young. Trust me, I don’t care how old you are, you’ll relate to them.

Quote;  ???

“A car’s weakest part is the nut holding the steering wheel.”

And Then, I Was Reminded...

   ...By wot I did the other day, climbing in the back of the car, of a post I posted in the past which, even back then, related to old age and, on reflection, I now realise I was still somewhat of a pup at just 66. Okay, a rapidly aging pup. Anyhoo, here it is and it’s a situation many of you could be all too familiar with. Enjoy{?}.
   You will be familiar with the Highway Code edict regarding manoeuvring round and round a roundabout, right? Give way to traffic coming from the right, right? Today was not a regular roundabout kind o’ day.
   This ‘non regular’ incident took place at a roundabout close to home with two fairly busy roads crossing at a roundabout of super small size. In fact the central bit you go round is no more than a white painted, slightly raised lump.
   What can possibly go wrong? What can go wrong is when four old guys roll up to the roundabout simultaneously and all want to turn right round the roundabout. You see where this is going? Yup, who gets to go first.
   I stopped and waited for the old guy to my right to make his move. Sadly, that old guy was waiting for the old guy to his right to make his move who, in turn, was waiting for the old guy to his right to do his thing.
   Time passed and it slowly became apparent we had a roundabout standoff which is every driver under 60’s worst nightmare; to be stuck behind four old guys in front at a roundabout standoff.
   With traffic starting to backup behind us old guys at an alarming rate, my little nest of vipers inquiring if we would be sitting here for all eternity, actually, she said, ‘Is this it then?’, you’ll be proud to learn ol’ Foggy threw old age driving over-caution to the wind, took the bull by its nettles, girded up my loins, not a pretty sight, and made my move. Slowly.
   At the sight of movement from my side the other three old guys also cautiously moved off and, all too briefly, we joyously joined together in a synchronised rolling-round-a-round-a-bouting reel of incredible beauty.
   Poetry in 10 MPH motion no less, accompanied by happy smiles and much hand waving between participants. Anyone familiar with the intricacies of Morris Dancing will understand and appreciate this manoeuvre.
   After this all too brief moment of motoring bonding we sadly bade farewell and, with one last toot of our horns, continued on our lonely journeys with only happy but rapidly fading memories of the great Sunday roundabout standoff left.

Quote;  Robin Williams.

Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?

And Then Everything’s Fine...

A parking fine that is and this is a cautionary tale for those as dumb as wot I be.

A few weeks ago we were out and about in the car when we found ourselves close to a pub we’ve visited dozens of times as they do a rather good lunch. Fortuitously, it was lunchtime so I hauled into the carpark. We entered the establishment, found a table, ordered nosebag, ate and being replete and rested, left the pub. I quickly re-entered and paid the bill then left again, climbed in the car and drove home.

A couple of weeks later I was in receipt of a missive, complete with photos of my car registration, from a car parking outfit stating I’d parked at named hostelry and neglected to pay for parking and thus had been awarded an eighty five pound fine reduced to fifty dabs if I paid within ten days. Suddenly that lunch wasn’t such an enjoyable bargain.

Hah! Scam thought I. We’ve been there dozens of times and there were no parking fees. Okay, phone the pub. Guess wot; owing to folk parking to visit the nearby shops and not using the tavern, a couple of months back they’d farmed out management of the carpark to a private enterprise and ensured me there were signs to that effect at the entrance to the parking area and on the door into the pub. Did I see them? No. Been there many times so was I looking for parking signage? No. And how should I have paid if I’d seen said signage? By smartphone of course. You ever tried that? I did once a long time ago and got lost in the convoluted instructions. It may have improved but I’ve never been tempted to try again.

A little research seemed to indicate a few ways to avoid payment but I’m not actually body fit for too much stress so paid-up as fifty is thirty five better than eighty five and as a small protest, I requested a hard coy of the receipt of payment via hard mail. May as well cause them a bit of work for the fee. Anyhoo, this has resulted in me now suffering from ACPP – Acute Car-Park Paranoia.

I can handle they parks where you punch a button, get a ticket and pay on the way out but I can no longer enter they big carparks such as at big out of town shopping complexes, eateries and such and even supermarkets, without searching out a sign – usually way up a poll and needing binoculars to read.

Trust me, there are some beauties out there and the best I’ve spotted to date is at a frequently visited huge out of town retail park. This carpark offers one and a half hours free in big print but examining the small print you find there’s no way to buy more time should it be needed but with yet smaller print stating there’s a charge of one hundred pounds per hour, or part thereof, if you stay over that free time. Lord knows how much is being ripped by these outfits.

Quote;  Tommy Cooper.

“You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said 'Parking Fine.'”

And Then A Sign...

I’m sure most of you have seen, at one time or another, those signs on the back of trucks, vans, coaches and some taxis, pointing to a phone number to call should you wish to report how well that particular vehicle was being driven at the time. Well, yesterday I was tootling round town when I spotted one on the back of a contractors van in front of me that spoke volumes as to how I suspect the majority of folk in those trade rides regard those ‘Did I do good?’ signs adorning their rear ends.

Sorry about the quality of the snap but I grabbed it right quick as I believe using a mobile phone while driving is illegal now so I’m guessing that indulging in photography utilising a mobile phone while doing thirty is similarly frowned upon. 

                

Quote;  G. K. Chesterton.

“People that insist upon drinking and driving, are putting the quart before the hearse.”

And Then A Crossing...

I’ve done a couple or more posts in the past relating to old folk and driving – okay, this old folk - and this is another right here with a little less of the old.

While still horizontal but semi awake in bed this morning, mentally preparing for the arduous task of bending and pulling on socks** prior to ambling to the coffee maker, roundabouts popped into my head. Such is the strangeness of an old head. You can enjoy my first roundabout post by clicking right here – as for the elderly and reversing, enough said. Hay, don’t laugh, age is coming your way faster than you would like to think, okay? Anyhoo, this thought relates more to the fellows who do the planning than the drivers.

I’ll explain and feel sure that’ll help you understand what the hay I’m typing about.

Not too far from me and us is a busy dual carriage-way. Along this road it intersects with a very busy rat-run and the flow is assisted with a roundabout. So far so-so.

At certain times of the day, usually any time between seven AM to seven PM, the rat-run is just a constant stream of two-way traffic going straight across the roundabout and this flow becomes so constant that the flow of the dual carriage-way is severely slowed; slowed to such an extent that when one car moves to exit the roundabout onto the dual carriage-way this slight gap is taken advantage of to leap into the flow to cross the roundabout. This, obviously, requires a frantic pump of the go faster peddle to get into the flow and dive off the other side avoiding a broadside blow from the frantic flow from the left.

And this is the bit I can’t fathom from a planning perspective. Immediately at all the roundabout exits some planner decided it’d be the perfect place for pedestrian crossings. Just the Zebra striped pedestrian ‘right of way’ thingy – no lights. Thus, you pump it up to get round to find your frantically throwing out an anchor as someone, head in phone, steps onto the crossing. There are many such roundabouts here about where wot I be.

Who’s idea was that then? Did it look good in a Power Point presentation? Wouldn’t the software let ‘em move the crossing fifty or a hundred yards down flow from the roundabout exits? One wonders how many fender benders there’ve been on these roundabouts. Many I would think. Having said that, I’m old...

**Buy big fluffy slippers and worry about socks after several ‘awake making’ mugs of coffee.

Quote;  Jenny Downham.

There's a gang of boys on bikes blocking the road ahead. They've got their hoods up, cigarettes shielded. The sky's a really strange colour and there's hardly anyone else about. I slow right down.
"What shall I do?"
"Reverse," Zoey says. "They're not going to move."
I wind down the window. "Oi!" I yell "Move your arses!"
They turn languid, shift lazily to the edge of the road and grin as I blow kisses at them.
Zoey looks stunned, "What's got into you?"
"Nothing - I just haven't learned reversing yet.”

And Then, Tractors...

While out for a run the other day, tootling round A and B roads, it quickly became apparent... Say what now? No, ‘apparent’, meaning clearly revealed to the mind or the senses or judgment. Not a parrot which entirely different and is in fact a brightly  plumaged bird native to somewhere else that can, with a little kindness and a lot of cruelty, be taught to ‘talk’.

Anyhoo, it quickly became a parrot that the harvest is getting into full swing going by the number of tractors and tractors towing sundry large lumps of agricultural equipment on the roads.

I don’t really have a problem with this as these guys have a job to do and I like food. Think back, those of you wot still can, to the days when you could quite often round a bend and find yourself in amongst a flock of sheep, or herd of cows, on their way to pastures new. Remember the killer time? Cows on their way for milking, right? Yup, you remember. Stuck behind a tractor is small beer in comparison to getting through one of those crowds.

I believe the maximum speed limit for farm stuff has been lifted to 40 MPH to aid the flow of traffic locked behind and I’m sure farmers are delighted with this as it means getting their kit where it’s needed a tad quicker. Us older folk, just out for a run are pretty much not phased either way to any great extent.

Sadly, this upping of the speed limit seems to have had unintended consequences going by my observations.

Before, with farm kit going at slow and below, on bendy country roads, with the cunning use of eyes, gears and the go faster peddle, it was pretty straight forward waiting your turn and getting past the tractor and whizzing on your way. Now, with the kit hitting 40 MPH, it’s a whole different game and, on many roads, the line of sight to the next blind bend is dramatically shorter at 40.

I was about three cars back of one tractor and a glance in the looking backwards mirror reviled a line of traffic of unknown length owing to the same bends being behind that, just moments ago, where in front, but it was considerable.

Thus, in my humble opinion, the lifting of the speed limit seems, on certain roads at least, to have had a detrimental effect on the go and flow and we were locked-in until the tractor turned off. We were locked-in for so long we lulled into 40 dreaming and almost followed the tractor into the field.

It was interesting to note the number of young bucks who  repeatedly stuck their noses out, hoping for a run at it only to quickly tuck it back in. They obviously had somewhere to be at a certain time. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t us old folk grow up with a basic knowledge of seasons and what was happening in the countryside through the seasons? If we had an appointment involving the use of bendy roads during harvest time, did we not adjust our leaving time accordingly? Then, if we got a clear run at it and got there early, we took a coffee or a scotch, dependant on the importance of the appointment, or on a cluttered run, arrived on time.

This simple concept seems to have been lost and sadly, at time of typing, there doesn’t seem to be an App for that.

Quote;  Leonard Cohen.

“A sip of wine, a cigarette,
And then it’s time to go.
I tidied up the kitchenette;
I tuned the old banjo.
I’m wanted at the traffic-jam.
They’re saving me a seat.”

And Then, On A Street Near You...

Further to the pothole post, while bobbing round the Web-a-Net, I ran – pun? – into a piece relating to the marking, by a glorious council, of car parking areas on a street.

I linked to the piece in response to a comment to the pothole piece by the good Caratacus and wondered why it didn’t dawn on the charge-hand painter that he should possibly contact his boss before actually doing the painting. Below is his response to that strange notion of mine:

Caratacus (for it is he, speaking unto a mobile phone): "Steve - who did the measurements for Highfield Road?"
Steve: (sigh) "Alan. Why is there a problem?"
C: "Just a bit. Get him to come down here, would you? Now. No - now. I'm going to get the chaps tea and stickies ... they think it's brilliant. F*** knows what they're putting on Facebook"
S: (a groan ... and another one) "Please, don't. I'll pick him up and we'll be down there in ten minutes. Pardon?"
C: "Sorry Steve - that wasn't me that was Mr ... Frost? Yes, Frost (thank you) from No.12. He's ... yes, OK Mr. Frost, no, no .. I suppose it's not so blanky funny at all. And you make your point commendably well if I may say so. Steve? - see you in a bit"

I guess council contracts just cover the basics; turn up for work roughly on time; knock off roughly at the time specified; take roughly an hour for lunch; ensure smartphone is on and logged onto Face-brick. And obviously nothing in their pre-job meeting relating to the need to engage brain to avoid pain.

The article makes no mention of causalities amongst the paint crew during the execution of this job so we must assume that, upon completion of the ‘project’ and against all the odds, they managed to extricate themselves from the street alive and intact.

The whole exciting story can be found under this bit in blue.

Quote;  Jean de La Fontaine.

“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.”

And Then Two Quick Observations...

Frist-up is the news that it’s looking like Theresa May may get get to be the the countries new leader leader. If this proves to be correct, what lies ahead for us? Possibly a protracted period of Theresa Mayhem?  Ah shacks ma heed.

Second-up is the news that they’ve managed to navigate a small craft for five years, over a distance of one point seven billion miles, that’s one point seven billion miles, and get it into orbit round Jupiter. Meanwhile, on our little island on this insignificant chunk of rock we call home, we can’t manage to run trains to time and it’s rapidly becoming impossible to drive your car for more than a hundred yards without having to take evasive action to avoid risking the ruination of the suspension by plunging into a pothole. Ah shacks ma heed.

Quote;  William S. Burroughs.

“After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'I want to see the manager.'”

And Then, From Back When...

I was tuned into a local radio station this afternoon when the DJ played a blast from the past that I’d long forgotten and, upon hearing it again after so many years, was taken with how well it had stood the test of time.

Took me way back and very quickly had my feet tapping and pumping and jiving in all directions while my hands were doing rhythmic, but a tad jerky, back and forth swings - all of which, on reflection, must’ve been a really puzzling and irritating three minutes for the drivers following us at the time. However, it was gladdening to note that many drivers heading in the opposite direction must’ve been listening to the same song as they joyously flashed their headlights at me in recognition of my synchronised side-to-side swings as I rocketed towards them.

If you’re heading out for the evening, on foot, this’ll set you up right good. Enjoy your time; it’s valuable.

            

Quote;  Rachel Cain.

“See?" he said, with an unholy amount of glee. "I hardly broke any laws at all. I should drive more often."
"No. Trust me, you shouldn't," Eve said. "Think of all the little old people and the children.”

And Then A Different Drive...

Driverless lorries? Convoys of up to ten lorries with one driver?
...the plans could result in platoons of up to 10 computer-controlled lorries being driven metres apart from each other.
When I wuzz a kid, way back BT {Before Technology}, we called ‘em trains and they ran on tracks away from the roads. What happened to that game? Nobody want to go to the rail freight yard to collect their stuff anymore?

I see they’re going to trial this trick on ‘a quiet stretch of the M6’. A quiet stretch?  That alone stretches the imagination.

Next up, when we’re all automatic, cars an’ all, will all us car drivers need to queue at motorway joining slip roads ‘till there’s a huge bunch of cars that’ll then be automatically split into convoys dependant on destination and then move off with the poor prat who was first-up at the queue controlling the lot in ‘his/her’ convoy? Now that would be stretching that designated driver thingy a tad would it not?

Imagine the scene, in the unlikely event of a software problem, yeah, I know, when the ‘designated driver’ rocks-up back at the ranch.
“Hi honey, I’m home. Did anyone come to collect those six trucks I brought home yesterday? Yes? That’s good. Oh, there’s sixty for supper by the way.”

Quote;  Simon Head.

“it offends the continuum of human dignity to treat people like the appendage of highly efficient machines.”

 

And Then A Musical Ride….

Well, you'll be unsurprised to learn we survived yet another storm by riding it out in the cupboard under the stairs. The hardest part of the whole ordeal was convincing her indoors to get into the cupboard in the first place. It was a lot like penning a really rowdy sheep.

And what better way to greet our salvation than to enjoy that Isle of Man TT video set to music. If you have, or had in your youth, any interest whatsoever in motorcycles, a bit o' speed, the IOM TT and good sounds, you'll more than enjoy the show presented for your enjoyment by Ripper. Just follow this link. You'll also find it under Stuff You May Like, named TT To Tunes. How clever a name is that then?

Cancel my last; the link in Stuff just came back saying it wasn't available on The Foggy Mirror. The link above does work. For me anyway. Sorry about that.

Have a great evening and try not to fall off your laptops, okay?

Quote;  Dan Aykroyd.

"You do not need a therapist if you own a motorcycle, any kind of motorcycle!"

            ??

"Most motorcycle problems are caused by the nut that connects the handlebars to the saddle."

And Then A Run Out….

On the road between where we be domicile and the town wot we visit quite frequently, there's only one large village with a thirty MPH limit. Everyone, who uses this road with any frequency, knows to get it down to thirty as it's a favourite speed camera van hang-out. Dead handy for them as they can park-up in front of the village pub…

Other than that it's a stretch of fifty MPH, a goodly dose of zoom dual carriage way and all the rest, other than the village, is sixty.

About a mile outside the village, going that way so as to be leaving the village, or if coming the other way, just before the village, there's a shallow bend that's constructed over a small stream. About a year ago they did that strengthening thingy to take into account the fact we've moved on from horse-drawn transport.

While this work went on triangular signs were placed before the curve stating a maximum speed of forty MPH. Acceptable, I guess, considering guys were working below, on, in and around the curve.

Sadly, once work was completed the forty MPH signs weren't collected. Even sadder, while work was in progress, all clear signs weren't put in place after the curve. No big deal, just give it a little thought, apply a dose of common sense, note a similar triangle with its message pointing at the traffic coming at you as you exit the curve and have at it with foot on peddle.

However, sadly to the power of three, if you're lucky enough to be back a little from the front of the proceeding traffic, and the guy at the front obeys all the rules without question, eyes wide front, you're doomed to spend the last fifteen miles of the trip doing forty as this is a busy bit of a bendy road with little to no chance of a clean overtake.

The goofy thing is, everything joyously speeds up again when we hit the fifty sign, for bringing traffic down from sixty, just before the point of destination.

If I ever get to that bend on a quiet day, those signs are toast.

Quote;  Rachel Caine.

“See?" he said, with an unholy amount of glee. "I hardly broke any laws at all. I should drive more often."
"No. Trust me, you shouldn't," Eve said. "Think of all the little old people and the children.”

And Then We Get Ever Closer….

We went for a drive to one of those Sunday market thingies as her indoors was in the mood for a bargain; something along the lines of a fourth, or is it fifth? stainless steel colander or similar. However, upon arrival, we found the market to be closed. What to do? Keep going ‘till we found an eating establishment is wot we did and ate right well as well when we found one. We had side salads and she was hoping they would be served in disposable colanders but, alas, that was not to be.

The point of this post isn’t about closed markets, colanders or huge lunches but rather about close contact driving.

We set off awfully early, about ten thirty, and the roads were still quite slick after the overnight freeze and temperatures remaining at zero. This didn’t seem to deter my fellow following travellers from getting close enough to be able to read who manufactured my rear number plate and also enabling me to lip-read their conversation in my rear view mirror with ease. They seemed to be talking utter rubbish by the way. Hay, waaait a minute!! Was I lip-reading backwards?

Anyhoo, have you noticed this cosy closeness? Us over here seem to be driving ever closer to the vehicle in front. Me? I do attempt to keep a distance behind the guy in front consistent with the prevailing road and weather conditions. Let me read that last bit again….. Boy, does that sound good or wot?

We’re not quite at other countries levels of closeness yet, but I get the impression we’re fast getting there. Take Singapore for example.

It would appear there’s an unwritten law forbidding drivers to allow a gap to open up between vehicles on highways, during rush hours, that would allow a cigarette paper to be inserted. Or Vietnam where it seems actual vehicular contact must be maintained at all times and the use of signalling, rear view mirrors or looking anywhere other than straight ahead is, apparently, prohibited.

If you ever plan a holiday to Vietnam DO NOT tick the box for car hire. Even if the tick-box has the word ‘Complimentary’ after it.  In fact don’t even plan on crossing a road during your stay….. More on this can be found back here.

Maybe It’s old style me but It just seems we’re getting too close for comfort. Especially in iffy conditions.

Quote;  Dave Barry.

“The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status, or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we all believe that we are above-average drivers.”

       ??

“I hate when I'm set on running a yellow light and the person in front of me chickens out.”

And Then Advice For Older Drivers….

As the holiday season is all but upon us and with safe driving being highlighted in all the media, I thought I’d post this old puzzle to help those of an age for whom driving is slowly{?} becoming more of a challenge than an enjoyment.

Scenario:
You are driving along and to your immediate left is a vertical drop to the ground far below. To your immediate right is a fire engine.

In front of you are some panicky galloping pigs that neither you or the fire engine can overtake. Behind you is a police helicopter flying at close to ground level. You’re boxed in on three sides and being forced to travel far too fast for your comfort and getting close to panic thinking of the sheer drop to your left.

How do you extricate yourself from this perilous situation?

Answer:
Get off the kids merry-go-round; you're pi**ed.

Quote;  Jarod Kintz.

“I’d drive a thousand miles just to learn how to conserve gas and help save the environment. But that’s just who I am. I’m a thoughtful guy. ”

And Then I Loose The Will….

While tootling in the car a few days ago, I noticed a flashing blue light coming up behind so thought it prudent to pull over. It proved to be no big deal; the officer just warned me not to tootle in a moving car but better to wait ‘till I got to the privacy of home and, while out and about in public, to just concentrate on driving. No points lost, just funny looks.

As I continued on my way, all thoughts of a satisfying tootle put on hold, my thoughts turned, as they do, to death. “I’ll write a Will is what I’ll do. When I get home. Not while I’m driving as the bloke with the blue light’s still tailing me.”

And so it was I did the business with one of those Will Kits that go for buttons in the newsagents.

The finished article, following the vague instructions provided, made no sense whatsoever to me. That’s me wot had writ it. Hence, I guess, the buttons price tag.

And so it was that I wrote a draft Will, in English, found a reasonably priced solicitor and asked him to write the sucker up in Will-speak.

A week later I was in receipt of the solicitors draft. I read it as you would, just seeing what I knew was there. At the end I drew a sharp intake of breath  and paused for thought. ‘Why the big breath?’. Then I started looking in proper way.

Now I realise this guy was way cheaper than many others but what do you save by not printing those little dot thingies and the dots with a tail? Yup, you got it. Not one hint anywhere in a fist-full of A4 pages of any punctuation. Nothing. Hang on a comma pickin’ minute! Is this the correct legalese method? Or Japanese method?

Then, with further, closer looking, rather than just reading, I spent much time correcting the spelling of this legal mastermind.  How sad is that then? A solicitor? Our finest and brightest? Or was the writing jobby just handed off to the tea lady? The Parateabagget?

By the way, if you are contemplating preparing a Will, using a Will kit or seeking the assistance of a legal eagle, don’t waste time searching or enquiring for these ideas as you’ll discover, as I did, that, “Keep it all in a box ‘till I return” or, “Take it all with me” are, sadly, not available options.

You may also contemplate asking the guy or guyess to spell something simple {as time goes by….} as a little test before awarding them the Will to write as you may well find you loose the will to continue.

Quote;  Elbert Hubbard.

“Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive.”