It had been a great weekend, everything had been just about perfect; until the drive home that is…I chose to drive back on the Sunday thinking the traffic would be easier, and in the main it was. The sun was shining and I was fair flying along when I caught sight of one of those motorway signs telling me of impending ‘queage’ ahead. Junctions 12 and 13 it said, but I was sure I came off at 12 so I carried on regardless.
Saw the same warning several times as I shot along the M40, then, suddenly, there was a knot of cars ahead and lots of brake lights. “Bother,” I said out loud, and I was right. We all came to a grinding halt well short of junction 12.
From then on it was 200 yards every hour or so. Funny thing was, just after I hit the queue, the news came on to say the Motorway was closed in both directions. “Blumin typical.” Said I.
Seems that some poor bloke had been shot and the police had set up a murder enquiry. The sun was still shining, and my 3 hour drive took almost 7, but hey, at least I did get home in one piece.