Now, regular readers of my outpourings we be well aware of my green credentials. I've well up on the environment and the threats posed to it. In between my stints as a mystery shopper at various chip shops I campaign vigourously on behalf of Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, the Countryside Alliance and the Royal Society for the Protection of Pork. If I wasn't slaving over a hot keyboard now, you'd probably find me painting my name on an oil rig or something else equally productive.

We all have to earn a crust and so I've been out and about this week doing what a man needs to do to put food on the table. My journeys to the various shoplifting venues have been interspersed with a great concern that we are undergoing a catastrophic environmental disaster that the Government is surely hiding from us. I am of course talking about the country getting a bit scrunched up. As I bounced along the M25 it occurred to me that motorways never used to undulate like a ride at Alton Towers. It's all very well putting warning triangles up about bumpy roads but I've had to buy a sodding periscope just to see the car in front.

Boeing

The whole country is slowly being dragged closer to London. Scrunched up around the belly button that is the Capital, the M25 is slowly distorting and will shortly swirl up and disappear completely. In the meantime we poor motorists have to prepare ourselves for the oxygen masks to drop down every time we reach the crest of a bump. If I could go any faster I'd end up in a third party claim with a 747. I used to think that it was just poor road design that was to blame, but with the Government supposedly splashing out £10 billion on the roads it must be something more serious than that. Unless they're thinking of resurfacing with five pound notes.

As I launched off the peak of a forty foot wave that was lane three, I pondered on my previous journeys that week. An appointment in London on Wednesday forced me to brave my way into the capital by road. With the wrong types of train on the track I couldn't risk my life at the mercy of Railtrack so I did the decent thing and hopped in my personal pollution solution and joined the queues painting the town grey in south west London.

Volvos

Now I know why everyone drives 4x4's in London. I thought it was some sort of status thing or a safeguard against Volvo drivers, but it is of course in order to traverse the capital's treacherous landscape. It was like driving though a war zone. Huge craters in the road threaten to swallow you up should you ever get above 5mph. Grubby street urchins were poking their heads over the edge as I edged my way through the battle field that is Elephant and Castle. Huge ecological disasters masquerading as road works slowed my already tedious journey. Peering over the perilously balanced barriers I could see men working thousands of feet below. I narrowly avoided one hole only to find a team of potholers brewing up before making their final ascent back to street level. Miserable weather only contributed to the scene unfolding before me that was more reminiscent of Sarajevo than Stockwell. I swear I saw a workman cleaning his bazooka on a fag break.

No doubt the Government will blame the wrong type of rain for the awful state of our roads. Well there's got to be a better explanation than that I'm fear. The motorways are curling up like bacon and our urban streets are opening up like they're riddled with festering blisters. It's us poor mugs that have to drive through the open sores whilst Tony's Cronies fly around the country in helicopters. And where's the main man Blair? In between dodging farmers and updating his BCG jabs he's holed up in Number Ten praying that he loses the next election before having to save our country from collapse.