A black Jaguar pulls to a halt on the gravel drive of a large country house and its driver, a forty-something male wearing a light grey suite, hurriedly gets out and opens the rear passenger door, over on the left side of the car. No sooner has he done so, the front door of the house opens and a forty-something male wearing a dark grey suite casually walks to the open passenger door and gets in. Light grey suite shuts the door, gets back in the driver’s seat and the vehicle pulls away.
Dark Grey: “Into the office today, I’m afraid, important meeting at ten-thirty. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it. It’ll probably be all ‘EU Directive this and EU Directive that’. Don’t suppose anything of real importance will be discussed. What’s the A40 like?”
Light Grey: “According to the radio there’s a lorry gone through the central barrier at Greenford, I don’t know what its like after that, sir.”
Dark Grey: “There would be. Bloody lorries, they’re nothing but trouble. And to think, they want even bigger ones, as if thirty-odd tonne doesn’t cause enough bother".
Light Grey: “I think they go up to forty-four tonne now, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Good Lord, do they really? Oh.”
The Jaguar winds its way through the lanes of Buckinghamshire and joins an A-road that will take it to the A40, and into London.
Dark Grey: Looking up from his broadsheet, “Bit slow this morning, isn’t it. Not usually this bad, surely?”
Light Grey: “There’s a lorry up ahead, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Hell, so there is. What speed is the idiot doing?”
Light Grey: “About forty by the look of it, sir.”
Dark Grey: “About forty. Bloody fool's one of those fuel protesters, no doubt.”
Light Grey: “No sir, I think forty’s the limit.”
Dark Grey: “Don’t be ridiculous, there’s one of those white sign thingies - the one with the black stripe. It’s seventy along here.
Light Grey: “National Speed Limit sign, sir. Which means it’s sixty for us and forty for him.”
Dark Grey: “Are you sure? Oh.”
The Jaguar finally joins the A40, that slow, often choked and always busy river of metal that’s called arterial. Today it’s having a coronary.
Dark Grey: “Look at these people, they sit in this traffic day after day. I couldn't do it.”
Light Grey: “There’s a lorry up ahead, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Hell, so there is. What speed is the idiot doing?”
Light Grey: “About forty by the look of it, sir.”
Dark Grey: “About forty. Bloody fool's one of those fuel protesters, no doubt.”
Light Grey: “No sir, I think forty’s the limit.”
Dark Grey: “Don’t be ridiculous, there’s one of those white sign thingies - the one with the black stripe. It’s seventy along here.
Light Grey: “National Speed Limit sign, sir. Which means it’s sixty for us and forty for him.”
Dark Grey: “Are you sure? Oh.”
The Jaguar finally joins the A40, that slow, often choked and always busy river of metal that’s called arterial. Today it’s having a coronary.
Dark Grey: “Look at these people, they sit in this traffic day after day. I couldn't do it.”
Light Grey: “Too soul destroying, sir?
Dark Grey: “No, don’t have a licence.”
Light Grey: “Oh.”
Dark Grey: “No, don’t have a licence.”
Light Grey: “Oh.”
Soon the inevitable happens and the road grinds to a halt. All around fed-up drivers slump in their seats as if in front of the telly on Christmas afternoon. The Great Escape is what they want but The Old Man of the Sea is what they get - tedious, depressing and seemingly, never ending.
Dark Grey: “Our lorry driving friend, no doubt. He of the central barrier.”
Light Grey: “Probably, sir: Greenford’s not far.”
Dark Grey: “What ever possesses someone to drive a bloody great lorry through a crash barrier”?
Light Grey: “Well, I don’t suppose he did it on purpose, sir, maybe he was cut-up. Maybe he just lost concentration - It must be difficult driving one of those things mile after mile.”
Dark Grey: “Do you think so, well, you may be right, I suppose. Can’t say it looks that difficult to me. But if concentration’s a problem, then it’s important – especially if the result could be something like this. Can’t they do something to help keep themselves alert?
Light Grey: “I don’t suppose there are many things they can do, in reality, sir.”
Dark Grey: “They could telephone someone, conversation’s good to help focus the mind.”
Light Grey: “I don’t think that’s always advisable, sir, even with a ‘hands free’.”
Dark Grey: “Oh yes, of course. What about Crossword puzzles? I swear by them. They keep me wide awake and, If I say so myself, sharp as a knife.”
Light Grey: “They’re driving, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Oh.”
The minutes drag on until finally the stricken lorry is passed. The Jaguar continues east and into town at a slow but, by now, steady pace.
Dark Grey: “Well, there must be something they can do? What about a ‘game-laddie’, thing.”
Light Grey: “Game Boy. And they’re driving, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Oh yes, forgot. They could brew a pot of tea. Nothing like a cuppa to keep you on your toes.”
Light Grey: “Drivng, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Blast. Knitting, that’s it, mother’s always at it and she never misses a trick.
Light Grey: “Driving.”
They turn right at Marylebone Road, in silence now, as Dark Grey is in deep thought. Marble Arch passes unnoticed such is the depth of his concentration. Soon, it’s Hyde Park Corner and Parliament Square and the Jaguar turns into an entrance marked Department for Transport and comes to a halt facing a pair of substantial iron gates.
Dark Grey: “Got it.”
Light Grey: “Sir?”
Dark Grey: “I’ve got it. The solution to the lorry driver problem.”
Light Grey lowers the electric window by his side and shows a pass that hangs on a neat, printed ribbon. The gates open and the Jaguar drives forward.
Dark Grey: “It’s obvious. So obvious, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. ”Mother’s little comforts. The very thing that’s sustained generations through thick and thin. In times of trouble, when you need to be at your best, what do you turn to? The old filter-tipped, of course. Fags, that’s the answer, we’ll encourage ‘em to smoke. Within reason of course; health and all that".
Light Grey: “Well, you certainly see a lot of lorry drivers smoking, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Of course you do; they know what’s best. It’s got everything: something to occupy them but won’t interfere too much with the driving. Nicotine is a stimulant and will help to keep them awake. It’s something to look forward to on those otherwise dreary, long journeys. Yes, that’s it: The good old cigarette.”
Dark Grey: “Our lorry driving friend, no doubt. He of the central barrier.”
Light Grey: “Probably, sir: Greenford’s not far.”
Dark Grey: “What ever possesses someone to drive a bloody great lorry through a crash barrier”?
Light Grey: “Well, I don’t suppose he did it on purpose, sir, maybe he was cut-up. Maybe he just lost concentration - It must be difficult driving one of those things mile after mile.”
Dark Grey: “Do you think so, well, you may be right, I suppose. Can’t say it looks that difficult to me. But if concentration’s a problem, then it’s important – especially if the result could be something like this. Can’t they do something to help keep themselves alert?
Light Grey: “I don’t suppose there are many things they can do, in reality, sir.”
Dark Grey: “They could telephone someone, conversation’s good to help focus the mind.”
Light Grey: “I don’t think that’s always advisable, sir, even with a ‘hands free’.”
Dark Grey: “Oh yes, of course. What about Crossword puzzles? I swear by them. They keep me wide awake and, If I say so myself, sharp as a knife.”
Light Grey: “They’re driving, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Oh.”
The minutes drag on until finally the stricken lorry is passed. The Jaguar continues east and into town at a slow but, by now, steady pace.
Dark Grey: “Well, there must be something they can do? What about a ‘game-laddie’, thing.”
Light Grey: “Game Boy. And they’re driving, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Oh yes, forgot. They could brew a pot of tea. Nothing like a cuppa to keep you on your toes.”
Light Grey: “Drivng, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Blast. Knitting, that’s it, mother’s always at it and she never misses a trick.
Light Grey: “Driving.”
They turn right at Marylebone Road, in silence now, as Dark Grey is in deep thought. Marble Arch passes unnoticed such is the depth of his concentration. Soon, it’s Hyde Park Corner and Parliament Square and the Jaguar turns into an entrance marked Department for Transport and comes to a halt facing a pair of substantial iron gates.
Dark Grey: “Got it.”
Light Grey: “Sir?”
Dark Grey: “I’ve got it. The solution to the lorry driver problem.”
Light Grey lowers the electric window by his side and shows a pass that hangs on a neat, printed ribbon. The gates open and the Jaguar drives forward.
Dark Grey: “It’s obvious. So obvious, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. ”Mother’s little comforts. The very thing that’s sustained generations through thick and thin. In times of trouble, when you need to be at your best, what do you turn to? The old filter-tipped, of course. Fags, that’s the answer, we’ll encourage ‘em to smoke. Within reason of course; health and all that".
Light Grey: “Well, you certainly see a lot of lorry drivers smoking, sir.”
Dark Grey: “Of course you do; they know what’s best. It’s got everything: something to occupy them but won’t interfere too much with the driving. Nicotine is a stimulant and will help to keep them awake. It’s something to look forward to on those otherwise dreary, long journeys. Yes, that’s it: The good old cigarette.”
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