Thursday, June 14, 2007

The caravans of love….

Today, I mostly spent the day trying to get to Swansea in South Wales. I had an appointment at the monolith that is the DVLA – a horrible vision of Soviet seventies-ness stuffed to the gills with jobsworth civil servants, coffee machines and filling cabinets.

It’s South Wales’ own Lubianka rising out of the miserable dampyness of a soggy June day. Aside from the rain, the spray and the 40 tonners ever-threatening to make me the filling in a trucking butty, a flotilla of crawling caravans towed by boxy Volvos, beige Mercs and driven by Ron and Brenda added to the pile-up potential.

There were bloody hundreds of them. And as it happens, this very day is the 100th anniversary of the founding of the Caravan Club. A hundred years of getting in the way, pissing people off and generally creating traffic jams stretching through several time zones….. It makes you think doesn’t it? So what I want to know is, if a caravan-towing Volvo man in a flat cap, cravat and with a pipe sticking out of his mouth is so bumblingly slow, how come he is always at the front of the queue?


Jenny said...

He gets up extra early? I would guess that part of your journey was on the M6 - enough said!

Anonymous said...

Although I hate to admit it, I do have a grudging admiration for certain of Mr Volvo Slowcoach's skills. You see, he and most of his kind can manoeuvre a mobile housing estate with, usually, the greatest of ease, whether slowly or not. Whereas I, faced with the task of backing a ten-square-inch trailer (empty) in a deserted car park, would be floundering - and possibly even have jack-knifed - within minutes of putting the car into reverse.

So, respect to Mr Caravanner, wherever you are. And now, if you don't pull in to the next layby and get out of my doggone way...!