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Tuesday 2 April 2013

The airport run.

Tomorrow I’m off to Heathrow to pick up my daughter and her husband, who’ve just been on a belated honeymoon to New York. The one thing I hate about that journey is not the going there, it’s the knowing that I’ve got to do the Journey back. At least it will be very early in the morning when the business traffic knows the road and the traffic runs efficiently,fast, and in my mind safely.

Contrast that with travelling on the same stretch of motorway on a Sunday around midday. That journey fills me with dread. There seems to be a plethora of shiny clean rover 25’s and 45’s that seem to have absolutely no idea of motorway driving.

Driver 1: Middle lane user’s club. I will not drive more than 45 MPH, even if the lorries are overtaking me in the inside lane.

Driver 2: I shalt only overtake in the outside lane at 68 MPH because I won’t break the speed limit for one second.

Driver 3: I’m so busy talking, arguing, gesticulating, that I’ve not realised that thou shall not pull out without looking in my mirror.

I should have none of that tomorrow.

Also hopefully the contents in the bag clutched by my daughter in the pic below is a diamond encrusted Rolex for me.


Somehow I doubt it. As a babysitter for her son, “I’m worth it”.