On Saturday 27th December, after a restful christmas up north, it was finally time for my family and I to make our way home. Unfortunately, tragedy struck and we were stuck in our car for almost six hours on the A1. Here is my experience written from the car.
It’s almost as if I had forgotten that motorway traffic existed. Being at uni and not driving means that my mind has never given much regard to the state of our roads during our winter festivities. That is, until I get stuck in a car on the A1 for six hours.
Which is where I’m writing this blog post from; the back of my parents car. It’s dark, it’s boring, and I dearly want to snuggle in my bed instead of being here.
To pass the time there is the laptop, which provides little comfort due to the lack of internet, or the iPod, which is firmly in my ears to block out the dire sound of Radio 2. (I see my parents have not yet taken heed of my previous blog post.)
I have noted that during this duration in what I can only describe as ‘car-hell’, that it is easy to drift away into another world. The world of ‘The Car In Front’. First, it begins with noting the make and model of the car. Easy. The state of it provides some insight into the rest of the drivers’ life. From there, it’s imagination. And so it begins, drawing an entirely fictional timeline of the person in the car in front. This goes on for five minutes, until you are snapped out of your gloriously lethargic reverie by some snippet of bored conversation, or a beep from another car just as pissed off as you but happens to think they have a bigger penis than everybody else, and so displays this to the plethora of cars around him as a beep.
And so you continue to glare out of the front window, or the side window, or the back window if you’re a dog or just hiding from the law, bored out of your mind, wishing you could be catching up on that bumper crop of Xmas shows on your dear telly-box.
It’s lonely, stifling and a bit nippy, which is made worse slightly by the fact that I didn’t order a decaf Costa when we stopped. My cabin fever doesn’t stop there, though. By sheer happenstance it appears that my family has cabin fever too. Who’d have thought it? It well may be that they’re just as disinterested in me as I am in them. In short, we all look out the window so we don’t have to bloody talk to one another, for it’s very difficult to play I-Spy in the darkness of the motorway.
It is very easy to state that falling asleep would cure this long and tumultuous experience, but truthfully it is my belief that anyone who has the capability to fall asleep in the back of a car is either a wizard, or an alien. Nope. An in-flight snooze is not on the cards. And so I sit, bum aching, the remnants of Costa on my lips, and resume my little narrative for the car in front.
I think i’ll kill him off in series two.