The way of the future

I've moved around quite a lot lately, and my transport preferences have shuffled around in a similar fashion.

My problematic commute was initially provided by the rail service, but now I have resorted to car, followed by bus.

The difference in time to get from A to B is insignificant, but my experiences using the services couldn't be much more different.

For example, if I had still been taking the train, I wouldn't have experienced this little gem.

Whilst driving home later one evening on a deserted motorway, I approached a car in front of me that was travelling at what must have been around 45mph.

In the middle lane of a motorway.

With nobody else on it.

That, to me, is probably the most irritating thing that a person can witness on a public road.

There is a close second, however.

When passing the car at what felt like twice the speed of sound (I was travelling at 75mph incase the fool decided to really speed up and hit the fast lane), I noticed that he had his front foglights on.

On the clearest day we've had in the last two weeks. Not a cloud in the sky.

Why do people insist on driving with their front fog lights on when there's nothing wrong with the visibility conditions?! I asked one retarded gentleman this question some years back, and received the predictable response:

"It looks better".

TO WHO?! YOU?! YOU CAN'T SEE YOUR FOG LIGHTS, BUT I CAN AND I AM BLINDED BY THEM.

So, mr fog light driver; turn them off, or I'll turn you off.

You know what I mean.

Beware. Fog.

Motorway alert signs have never been that informative.

Signs informing you of a speed-limit of fifty miles an hour due to conditions are almost never followed unless vehicles can only achieve that speed anyway (Haulage lorries, etc).

Whilst driving into work the other day, I was finding it difficult to see. The reason for this was because there was fog so thick that visibility was reduced to around a six feet radius of the vehicle in which I was travelling.

However, this radius was just enough to make out a sign. I lent forward in my seat in the hope that some informative message was being transmitted to make my journey into work safer. Something inspirational asking us to exercise caution on our way in, or perhaps informing us of a crash some three or four miles up the road enabling us to escape the motorway at an earlier junction.

My eyes strained to make out the contents of the sign. It was a single word, and due to our speed it was past us before I had truly realised the wasted potential of an LED sign.

One word was printed on this board.

FOG

Cheers.

Sliproad shenanigans

We've all been there, and we've all thought about possible exit routes. I'm not referring to the sliproad however. I'm referring to the point where you're absolutely dying for a pee / poo, and you're wondering where the hell you're going to get rid of it.

I was taught a lesson in zero self-shame just the other day on my way home from work.

When exiting the sliproad off of the motorway toward the Town where I live, traffic becomes dense. This is because there is little skilled work available within the Town, and people have to commute to the City to find a job. Living outside of the City is favourable however, because of bigger and cheaper housing.

Queues to come off at this junction range between nothing to two miles long.

Whilst sat in this queue of traffic, a gentleman exits his vehicle from the passenger side. I see that the driver is still sat in the queue. The passenger walks over to the motorway barrier, and stands against it, back facing the road.

I immediately know what he's up to. He's taking a slash on the motorway. In front of an entire sliproad of traffic.

The traffic that was once stationary however, is now moving a little. He shuffles along in time with the car, whilst still in full flow, I can only assume.

Traffic speeds up. So does our urinator, only now, he's briskly walking along the sliproad with a stream of urine leading the way, appendage out for all to see. Traffic moves faster. He zips up, and walks back toward the car.

The traffic is now past a crawl. He breaks into a run. It's a race against time to get to the car before the driver gets to the motorway roundabout.

I think the car got about 6 car-lengths back from the traffic lights before it came to a stop, and the passenger got back in.

What I wouldn't have given to see that tosser left on the sliproad of a motorway having just displayed his wang to the general population.

Sometimes things aren't meant to be.

Happy Birthday!

Signs over motorways, dual carriageways, on roundabouts and other miscellaneous road-markings.

Who the hell thinks anybody cares that it's Dave's 19th today other than Dave? Ring the guy, and wish him a happy birthday. You don't need to broadcast it to the entire M5 and adjacent motorway junctions.

If you really do need to tell Dave that you're really happy it's his 19th and to tell the commuting British public at the same time, at least put some effort into your signs and get a professional artist to do it, rather than scrawling "HAPPY 19TH BIRFDAY DAVE U OLD TOSSER" in red / blue / green spray paint on an old (probably soiled) bedsheet.

Oh by the way, happy birthday to my friend David. He's 19 years of age today.

No, not really.