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hirezA30 (i): What appeared to be a Polo astride the central reservation on the far side of a gap in same. Polis blocking the southbound carriageway, but of course everyone had to slow down for a good look while travelling north. Further up the road, two polis cars were trundling along at the head of an appropriately-sized queue.
A30 (ii): Caravan in layby with bodywork at 45-degree angle. First time I've seen one of those mobile boghouses with a ram and tipping assembly, but I suppose it makes unpacking less of a struggle. Oh, wait. There's a battered-looking car still attached to the towing hitch. There's not a straight panel on the thing and it looks very much like the caravan shook it around like a football rattle.
A30 (iii): Coned-off Pug 30X (probably) with a concertina bonnet.
M5 (i): Some frizz-haired bollix in a Polo decides it would be a jolly good wheeze to steam up on the inside of some middle laner caravan-pilot. Not such a good idea when caravan-pilot starts to pull in while Polo-girl is in his blind-spot. Oh how I laughed as the effing caravan fishtailed down the road in front of me.
M5 (ii): Angry baldy-man in an Accord does not indicate or look, but starts to pull out into the space occupied by a reasonably-sized lump of Swedish steel (and rubber, plastic, etc).
At about this point, I think 'Soddez cela pour un jeu de soldats' and hasten (because I am no longer going to hang around so stupid people can try and drive at me) to the nearest motorway exit.
Even then, I cannot escape. The traffic lights on the ring-road are down and the polis aren't letting anyone into Frenchay.
A30 (ii): Caravan in layby with bodywork at 45-degree angle. First time I've seen one of those mobile boghouses with a ram and tipping assembly, but I suppose it makes unpacking less of a struggle. Oh, wait. There's a battered-looking car still attached to the towing hitch. There's not a straight panel on the thing and it looks very much like the caravan shook it around like a football rattle.
A30 (iii): Coned-off Pug 30X (probably) with a concertina bonnet.
M5 (i): Some frizz-haired bollix in a Polo decides it would be a jolly good wheeze to steam up on the inside of some middle laner caravan-pilot. Not such a good idea when caravan-pilot starts to pull in while Polo-girl is in his blind-spot. Oh how I laughed as the effing caravan fishtailed down the road in front of me.
M5 (ii): Angry baldy-man in an Accord does not indicate or look, but starts to pull out into the space occupied by a reasonably-sized lump of Swedish steel (and rubber, plastic, etc).
At about this point, I think 'Soddez cela pour un jeu de soldats' and hasten (because I am no longer going to hang around so stupid people can try and drive at me) to the nearest motorway exit.
Even then, I cannot escape. The traffic lights on the ring-road are down and the polis aren't letting anyone into Frenchay.
