Continuing the everyday look at everyday objects through the camera lens…
I went to Weybridge today.
Weybridge, for those who don’t know, is dahn sarf.
It’s sort of on the outskirts of that London.
The route was supposed to be A46, M1, M25, and another instantly forgettable, pot-hole riven, lumpy, bumpy, shockingly badly maintained A-road.
But my CrapNav diverted me, because of a heavy load of traffic on the M1.
So my route was actually A46, M1, A43, M40, M25, and then another instantly forgettable, pot-hole riven, lumpy, bumpy, shockingly badly maintained A-road.
The A46, M1, A43, M40 bits were fine and dandy, and I was able to ‘make progress’ (as DVSA tell us we should) in fine style.
The issue was the totally foreseeable problem-pit that is the M25.
I sat in my comfortable car on the M25, admiring the crumbling concrete and deteriorating tarmac infrastructure whilst trying to avoid eye-contact with everyone around me.
Avoiding eye-contact would have been so much easier if we had been attaining the DVSA mantra, and ‘making progress’.
Unfortunately we were not.
Indeed, for 45 minutes I made no progress at all.
Not nun. That’s different.
The people dahn sarf were very friendly.
The receptionist told me where to park in the massively huge car park (nb, not the M25) where I would avoid getting a parking ticket.
Yes I know.
Some bays in that car park reward cars that park in them with a hefty fine.
Well that’s fine.
During a break in proceedings, about halfway through the second meeting of the day, the meeting delegates went for a walk around the massively huge car park.
It was a nice day, so why not?
As we walked around the perimeter of the massively huge car park I noticed a thing.
Staff were sitting in deckchairs outside their building.
Sitting in identical deckchairs outside their building.
Yes, I discovered when I checked with reception later, yes, the company supplies deckchairs for staff to sit on, so they don’t accidentally pick up any leaves on their clothes, or ruin their immaculate hair products, or accidentally taint themselves by coming in to close contact with a worm or a beetle (not John, Paul, George, or Ringo. The other sort).
My first thought, obviously (because I am that kind of a guy) was along the lines of ‘Awww, how sweet that the company does this!’
My second thought, obviously (because I am that kind of a guy also) was along the lines of ‘You soft, southern, shandy-drinking bunch of losers. Fancy isolating yourselves from Planet Earth in such a way. You should get some worm droppings on your jumpers, just like we northerners do’.
And then I went inside for a continuation of the day of meeting fun.