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.
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.
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.
