I was in the passenger seat today on my way to work (getting the other ’alf working for us has some very big advantages) which at least made my 30 mile trek across the South-West section of the M25 entertaining for once. David is a hoot in the car, acerbic and witty as he gives a running commentary on the shortcomings of those in the cars around us. Nothing escapes his gaze, he picks on cars (ugly, slow, tractor-like) motorcyclists who disobey the motorcycling etiquette of riding down the white line between the 2nd and third lanes, white vans, people who are on their mobiles, people who drive badly, people who don’t indicate, people who are too slow, too fast or just plain people.

He’s not all mean though, he does utter up praise for some things, shiny BMWs, Porsches and Audis, Triumph Speed Triples and anything air-cooled….especially vee-dubs.

His driving gave me the opportunity to whip out my trusty camera, which is ever-ready in my handbag but usually I’m too cowardly to take it out while I’m driving.

These signs appeared on the M3 about a year ago and really incense me so badly I want to scream and have a huge paddy. I want to stamp my feet, yell, throw things and swear like a really bad person. You know, really swear, not the damped down asterisked out versions of swearing that I do in PBASE.

I have on more than one occasion been tempted to get out and inflict injury (well criminal damage at least) on the bl**dy things. You see, by the time I reach this sign, I have already been sitting in traffic crawling along at below 10 miles an hour for ten miles most days. So why do they feel the need to rub salt into my wounds by telling me I’ll be suffering for another six miles? I just don’t feel it’s helpful. Those of us who do it every day KNOW it’s a complete car park, so why insult us by telling us so…and the pic of the cars? AAAArrrrrrrggggghhhhhhh, do they think we’re stupid?

It takes between 1 ½ hours and 2 hours to get to work most days and 1 – 1 ½ to get home. That’s a minimum of 2 ½ hours a day, 12 ½ hours a week, 50 hours a month and ……well I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that’s a huge chunk of my life. Just think, I’ve been there for eleven years and even if you assume that for two months I don’t go to Epsom at all then it still works out at 229 whole days travelling between the two places in that time. That’s 229 days when I calculate using 24 hours as a day….if you then think that I couldn’t be awake 24 hours a day and do the calculation based on 16 hours in a waking day it comes to a whole year.

A whole year of my life travelling, either by train or by car, to and from my place of work. Isn’t that just depressing?

I know you could argue that I should have moved closer to Epsom, but believe me unless you have pots of money to spend on a house or you want to live in a rabbit hutch at the bottom of someone else’s garden then that isn’t a feasible option.

What would I have done with that year? I would have spent more time in the woods with the dogs and David, I would have spent more time gardening and DIYing and at the pool and cooking and photographing and seeing my friends and generally having a good time. Pah pah pah I say to the South East. I have an escape plan, of which part one is about to spring into action. David, get the car and the dogs, we’re off!!!