Dan goes all Jeremy Clarkson

The road which I usually take home from work is closed. Nothing too unusual about this, especially at this time of year. The months before the new financial year kicks in often see various organisations franticly trying to spend their budgets, because as we all know if you don’t spend it this year you won’t get it again next year. I’m assuming that the gas, electricity, and water companies work in the same way as it seems like the entire of West Yorkshire is being dug up at the moment.

What is a little out of the ordinary however is that my route home is going to be closed for thirteen months. Thirteen months! What can they possibly be doing that will take that amount of time to complete? I only hope it’s something exciting like an underground system of tunnels that lead to a secret cave where Halifax’s newest superhero will have his fortress of solitude. That, and that alone, would be worth the extra ten minutes I’m going to have to add onto my journey.

While I’m on the subject of roads I would also like to complain about sat-nav devices. For a start I can’t really afford one at the moment, therefore in the great British tradition of pettiness I poor scorn on anyone who can. But even worse they have begun to seriously hamper my efforts to drive anywhere recently.

We live in a very pleasant semi-rural village that is very handy for the nearby M62, an extremely busy motorway. The quickest way to get to said motorway is to nip up a number of very narrow, very winding, and very steep lanes.

In the old days your average lorry driver would consult his map and make the decision that Buttocks Scrote Lane looked a bit dicey and opt for the main road into Huddersfield instead. These days they program their destination into the sat-nav and follow blindly wherever it takes them. This frequently results in me being stuck behind one of them as they try to fit a 7’ lorry through a 7’1” gap. I suppose I could follow the lead of the residents of Branscombe beach and start looting the buggers.

And finally, in order to round up this motoring issue of All that comes with it I would like to end on some lyrics from the great John Shuttleworth. He once wrote a song about Ken Wild, a true Yorkshire hero who legend has it refused to sell his farm when they were building the M62 and ended up completely encircled by motorway.

The Man Who Lives On The M62
I feel like the man who lives
On that farm which sits
In the middle of the M62.
Thought it would be alright
Now I can’t sleep at night.
Some things you cannot undo

(In actual fact the truth is that they built the motorway around the farm due to a geological fault rather than any stubborn Yorkshire grit, but lets just pretend we didn’t know that.)

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