A Drive in the Country

I had quite a steady number today. Delivered five cars to a customer in Peterborough during a sudden if rather half hearted rainstorm – which I liked. Each period of rain puts the inevitable hosepipe ban and water shortages off for another day or so. Time for a quick coffee, then round to see what there was at the main dealers to collect. As a result of a blinding sales blitz, there was nothing. Well, that’s easy, then. This meant that I could now going direct to my next job in Scunthorpe without having to stop off at base to tip. Rather than the usual easy-but-dull plod up the A1, I decided that by way of a change, I’d be Micra man and take the pretty route up the A15 via Bourne and Lincoln. Time was not of the essence, and I’d find a place for lunch on the way.

By now the sun was out, and the A15 was remarkably quiet. Even Bourne wasn’t choked with parked delivery trucks making deliveries (inconsiderate lorry drivers, parking anywhere they feel like it, mutter, mutter, mutter …) Heading out of Bourne, I trundled through various villages that looked as though they came out of Country Life or possibly Heartbeat. Definitely not Eastenders, that’s for sure. Morton, Folkingham and Osbournby all stood out, with large ornamental gardens a blaze of colour and neatly trimmed flower beds and … er … stuff. I am to gardening what Fred Goodwin is to profitable and sustainable banking, so all I can say is that it all looked rather pleasant. Each village looked like a postcard of exactly how the quintessential British village should look, and that’s a rare thing these days. All very nice, but where the hell was a McDonalds? I’m hungry.

My chosen route meant negotiating my way through Lincoln city centre, which wasn’t as bad as I’d expected – I collect from Lincoln regularly, but from the outside edge. I only ventured into town once, and that was because I missed a turn and got lost. It was at 3.30pm on a Friday afternoon, of course. I didn’t get out until Saturday teatime, and I’ve been wary of the place ever since. Once out and on familiar ground, it was the regular run up the 15 to Caenby Corner, where there is a good café with excellent HGV parking. That was lunch sorted, then. I got my pack up down my neck, then headed off to Scunthorpe. The direct route goes past the hugely impressive (but under threat) steelworks; however the road is awful - especially if you hit steelworks shift changeover time – oh, that is bliss!

On top of that, there are endless sets of islands and traffic lights, so I go the long way round and enter from the top – much easier and less congested. This route passes the most God-awful Tesco I have ever seen. Supermarkets usually try to blend into the surrounding scene inasmuch as they can, but at Scunthorpe, the senior management must have made their decision after a night of popping happy pills, drinking vodka and toilet duck slammers followed by Dulux matt emulsion chasers while listening to Urban Testicles & the Cheesy Wotsits.

The front of the building is clearly modelled on Terminal 5, with lots of glass and shiny steel pillars. Then the money ran out, so the sides and rear of the building were made up with parts from the Guantanamo Bay Rest Home For Retired Terrorists, now that Barack has decided to shut it down (and how long before Richard Branson buys it and does it up as a tourist resort? You’re laughing now, but watch this space).

This made the rear of the building look hideously ugly, but that wasn’t enough. Because it lies on the edge of the ring road, Tesco can be seen for hundreds of yards. So, they painted the monstrosity white, in order that it could be seen for miles, if not from another planet. Unfortunately, it is not ideally located for photography, and although I could have driven in to their loading bay with the lorry, explaining my load of second-hand cars would take some doing. Especially if I came clean and told them I wanted to park up so that I could photograph the store in order to give it a pasting on my blog. Clearly Tesco need some assistance in their architectural department, and I trust that my observations will provide them with some food for thought. It’s not much, admittedly, but every little helps.

Fitting a Quart into a Pintpot

My challenge at work today was an afternoon trip to deliver 5 cars to a new customer in Loughborough. The words New Customer always fill me with dread. I didn't put the address in Tom-Tom; I just told it to find a really, really stupidly moronic place to put a car dealership and make sure there was no access for anything larger than a frog with a backpack. Then I typed in the address, and sure enough, they matched. One of the problems these days is that many new car dealers have sprung up who aren’t actually car dealers at all; they buy a handful cars from the auction and sell them from their house. Great - just tell us that before we send a lorry down your cul-de-sac!

Getting into Loughborough was the first problem, on account of every road ending up at the Midland Mainline Railway, which had obviously been designed by an engineer who was a midget and hoped the idea might catch on. Bridges? I've seen bigger culverts. After a lengthy diversion, which took in two more low bridges, I finally found a layby, cunningly disguised as a Bus Stop. I was therefore able to stop and plan a route via the only bridge that actually goes over the railway, and was of course, the official diversionary route. This was why it went through a village the size of Emmerdale, had a 7.5 ton weight limit (except for loading or vehicles over 12'6 - which is everything). Once in Loughborough, the fun really began. I couldn't turn left to access the road that would eventually lead to his street on account of a large Sprinter van casually parked slap-bang on the corner unloading rolls of carpet. The road looked do-able, with a lot of caution, thanks to the narrow roadway being flanked by two rows of casually abandoned cars – what the residents fondly imagine to be ‘parking.’ Yeah, right, it looked like Basra marketplace 10 minutes after a bomb had gone off.

In order to ascertain how close I could get to my intended destination, I parked up at a designated car transporter holding bay (yellow lines) and rang him. Naturally, he didn't answer. I figured on carrying on until I found a roundabout, which, everywhere else in Leicestershire, occur at 50-yard intervals. Well, you don’t need me to tell you that there wasn't a roundabout between me and Little Snot in the Intestine, so after six fruitless miles I turned round in a school entrance which was the only place I could get in without hitting anything solid (kids aren't solid and don't scratch the paint ). I performed one of my best ever 3-point turns (play to your audience), and headed back to hell. On the way the customer rang me back, and told me how I might be able to get in. The word 'might' really inspires confidence. Well, I was able to execute a right-hand turn and avoid the carpet-carrying Sprinter van that was still there, although they’d finished unloading the carpets and had decided that now would be a really great place to stop for a cuppa. Nice one. So I slowly threaded my way down between the dumped cars. It was tight – enough room for me and a gnat each side, as long as the gnat didn’t have a hard-on. Eventually I got in to the cul-de-sac at the bottom, but it took a 19-point shunt and then I blocked the road to unload because I couldn't get into the ‘dealership’ on account of it being the domestic garage at his house. Of course. So I dropped all 5 cars off and left him to sort them out himself.

Then I had to get back out; this was easier than I thought because I just clipped the corner and drove over the path, but it was either that or a parked Audi - (Oh Lord, lead me not into temptation.....) and I threaded my way out back onto the main road. Whereupon I promptly missed my exit from Loughborough, and found myself heading back to the low bridges. Oh joy, oh bliss, can today get any better? Only alternative – divert through the town centre and head for Leicester (i.e., the opposite direction) until I found the A46 and was back on familiar territory, heading for the first layby and a well earned cup of coffee.

"It didn't look very big parked up in your yard."