On the Road Again

After three years without a car, I finally bought another car. Actually, I bought two. First, I bought a VW Golf. I had it fifteen days, then I crashed it. It was a write off. I had to wait a month for the insurance check. Once the insurance paid off, I started looking for another car. With the Golf, I got lucky. I found it the first day I started looking with money in my pocket. The second car took me over a month to find. I finally settled on a Peugeot, which cost half as much as my Golf. I never dreamed I would ever buy a French car. In any case, the Peugeot has survived and gets good mileage. It's great being off public transport and I get to and from work in half the time.




A woman I wanted to date turned me down, a couple of years ago, because I didn't have a car. More recently, last year, another woman I was briefly dating complained that she didn't want to go on dates with me riding on the bus. This was despite the fact that she didn't own a car and road the bus every day, herself. She told me, "you need to buy a car." I let her know that I would buy a car when I was ready, not when she snapped her fingers. Both these women lost out on a relationship with me, because they couldn't be patient. I wonder how many others made the same mistake?



When I was younger, I always wanted flashy sports cars. Several times in my life, I loaded myself with expensive car payments to support this desire. This time, after three years with no car, I decided that any car is better than no car. I paid for my modest car cash. No loan payments to make, it has cheap insurance, and good fuel economy. Maybe I have finally learned a lesson.

A Saturday Night Off

This past Sunday, I had to be on location, for a film shoot, at 6:30AM. Because of that, it wasn't possible to do my "Night Waves" radio show, as it finishes at 7AM, and the studio is about 250 miles from the location. After explaining to the Station Manager, he was cool with me taking Saturday night off. After all, I make a hell of a lot more money working on a film, than I do doing radio.
The last time I was "off" on a Saturday, was the Saturday before New Year. Then, my good friends, Tim and Barbara, were visiting, from New York. Even though I was off, I was busy entertaining them, so it wasn't a relaxing time for me. This past Saturday was different. I had nobody to please other than myself. I was up for some fun. I found that Jordan Marsh's band, Blue Shoes, was playing a gig in Essex. I had to hire a car to get to the shoot on Sunday morning, so I picked it up Saturday evening, then set out for Essex. The car hire company gave me a free upgrade, because they were out of the cheap cars, which is what I had reserved. Instead, they gave me a Fiat Bravo and I wasn't complaining. The car was very nice, with a six speed transmission. I tuned in some music on the stereo, then blasted around the M25, to the other side of London.
Jordan was playing at the Eagle and Child, the same pub I had been turned away from, on New Year's Eve. This time, I had no trouble getting in. When I walked in, Jordan had just started his first set. He gave me a nod of acknowledgement, as I walked in. I bought a pint of Strongbow from the bar, then settled to enjoy the show. Jordan plays a nice mix of classic rock, soul, rockabilly, and even takes requests. Women in Essex have quite a reputation and there were several good looking Essex girls, present. In fact, I ended up surrounded. I had two brunettes in front of me and two blondes behind me.
When Jordan finished his second set and started packing up for the night, I walked over for a quick word. He was cordial as ever, even though we were interrupted by one of the brunettes, who was drunk. He told me that he's still not finished the CD he's working on. After saying goodbye, I rejoined the Fiat, out in the car park. With the stereo fired up, I roared back around the M25, to Berkshire and home. It was a fun night out. The only thing that could have made it better is if one of my friends had joined me. If you ever have the chance to see Jordan Marsh perform, grab it. He always gives an entertaining performance. This Saturday, I should be back on the radio, from Midnight, UK time, till 7AM, Sunday. You can listen to me at www.seasideradio.co.uk .

Stranded in Staines

Yesterday, I had an audition in London, at 11AM. I didn't want to ask the restaurant manager for an entire day off, so I came up with a more enticing proposal. I would come in to work early, at 6AM. I would work till 9:30AM, doing all of the food prep I usually do before noon. Then I would leave work, drive a rented car to London, do my audition, then race back to work and finish the day. I wouldn't need the day off, so everybody would be happy, right? As I expected, the manager accepted my deal.
In order to pull this off, I had to rent a car for a day. Unfortunately, the nearest car rental locations to where I live, like the ones in Bracknell town centre, close at 5:30PM. That's earlier than my bus brings me home. However, the rental agency locations at Heathrow Airport stay open late. I reserved a car at Heathrow. After work Thursday evening, I took the bus from Bracknell to Hammersmith. There, I caught the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow. At terminal 4, I picked up the Hertz courtesy bus, which deposited me at their offices on the airport ring road.
I had reserved a pre-paid rental online, at Hertz's website. They had quoted me the same rate for their smallest car, a Ford Ka or similar, as for the next size up, a Ford Fiesta or similar. With the price the same, I opted for the Fiesta. I might as well get as much car as I can for my money. Besides, I hate the Ka, which looks like a giant Flymo, electric lawnmower, to me. When I walked into the Hertz office at Heathrow, there were no other customers. Two guys were sat behind the counter, looking at me expectantly. Walking up, I said, "is it always this busy? Do I have to wait in queue?" They just laughed. I produced my voucher, license, and credit card, then waited while the inevitable computer records were filled out. To pass the time, I mentioned that I used to work for Hertz, back in 1986. They also noticed the button I wear, promoting Seaside Radio. I confessed that I do a weekly radio show. After a bit, the one processing my rental handed me the rental agreement. I initialed and signed in all the right places. He gave me the keys and told me the car was a Volkswagen.
As I walked outside, looking for my car, I wondered which Volkswagen model I would have. Something equivalent to a Ford Fiesta, I figured. I just hoped it wasn't a Polo. Reaching my spot, I thought something was wrong. I had the keys to a Volkswagen Beetle, convertible. When I opened the car door, I found out it was an automatic, as well. In Britain, you normally have to pay extra for an automatic and for a convertible. Here I had both. The rental agent must have upgraded me. This was a far cry from a Ford Fiesta. Okay, so I probably wouldn't need a convertible in Britain, in the middle of November. Still the car was peppy, had power everything, as well as a good stereo. I drove home enjoying being behind the wheel again. I wondered, did they upgrade me because I do radio, or because I used to work for Hertz?
The next day, things went pretty smoothly. I did my audition, as planned. I then went back to the restaurant and finished my afternoon work. When I got home for work, I was exhausted. The car was due back at 10PM. I decided to have a nap. I could sleep for a bit, then wake up, watch "Eastenders," then get the car back by 10. After setting my alarm, I went to bed. I really enjoyed sleeping. Suddenly, I sat up in bed. "What time is it?" I thought. Checking my clock, I discovered, to my horror, that it was a quarter to ten.. Panic struck. "How could I make it to the airport in time?
Throwing on some clothes, I raced to Heathrow. By the time I returned the car, it was 10:30PM. I was a half an hour late, but nothing was said. I then faced the challenge of getting back to Bracknell. Originally, I expected to be at Heathrow early, so I could take the bus back. The bus is cheaper, but the last bus leaves at 10:30. There is a train that leaves Waterloo Station at 11:30PM. I planned on intercepting it at Richmond, which would buy me a little more time.
When I got off the District Line train, at Richmond, there was a train already waiting going westbound. I ran over the overpass and managed to just make it in the doors as they were closing, I was home free, or so I thought. The display board indicated this train was terminating at Staines. I figured they must be doing some night track work further on and would send us by coaches. When we reached Staines, I saw railway staff putting passengers into cabs. Getting in queue and listening, I discovered that all the passengers seemed to be heading toward London. When it was my turn, I asked about arrangements for passengers headed toward Reading. One of the staff members told me the last train for Reading had gone already. They were putting eastbound passengers into taxis, at the train company's expense, because there was a security alert at Reading station. No eastbound trains were leaving the station. The taxis were being provided for eastbound people only. If I wanted one, I'd have to pay myself. Upon my enquiry, I was quoted more money than I had.
Since his return from Italy, Nando had bought another car. I tried sending him a text. "Where are you?" I asked. He sent me a text back, stating that he was over his girlfriend's for the night. No way he would help, then. I then tried to work out how far Bracknell is from Staines. Surely it couldn't be that far? I decided to try walking. While I walked along the roadside, I tried hitch hiking. I felt hungry, as I hadn't had my dinner. When I stumbled on the Staines McDonald's. I treated myself to a Big Mac meal. Hunger abated, I resumed walking.
Over an hour went by, when I started seeing signs for Eggham, the next town along the rail line, after Staines. Walking the paths late at night had been surprisingly enjoyable, but it was getting late and I felt tired. I'd have a rest when I got to Eggham. By the time I finally reached Eggham train station, I was exhausted. It had also taken me over an hour and a half. I decided to give up my ambition to walk to Bracknell. There was no choice but to stay there till the trains started running again, in the morning. Just my luck, the weather was freezing cold. I put up with the cold as long as I could, then strolled over to a convenience store which was still open. I spent ages in there, trying to get warm. On my way back to the train station, I slept in a phone booth, in order to save myself from freezing. At least it was dry in there, as it started to rain while I was in the booth.
Once the trains started running again, I caught the first one west. I took it all the way to Reading and commenced my northward ride to Yorkshire. I didn't have my usual food with me, but I did have my CDs. The show must go on!

Nando's Offer Fails

A couple of months ago, Nando offered to let me drive his car while he is away on holiday, in Italy, at the end of October. I was worried that he wouldn't be able to make good on his promise, when his car first broke down. Then he got someone to fix it and things started to look up. However, when I got back from Withernsea, this past weekend, it had stopped running again. I think he will scrap the car and buy another one, but he's not planning to do anything further about it till he gets back from Italy. That leaves me out in the cold. Things never seem to work out for me. First I get divorced, now this.

Slow

Researchers have determined that London is the slowest city in Europe. Traffic in the UK capital averages just 11.8 miles-per-hour. For years, I have suspected that London traffic is particularly bad. The traffic seems much worse than that in New York. One major problem is that the city is so old. The roads are not laid out in any sort of pattern, but seem to go this way and that, like a twisted mound of spaghetti. I think a lot of London was built back when there was only horse-drawn traffic.
New York City streets follow a pattern. Through most of Manhattan, streets go east and west, while avenues go north and south. Most roads there are one way, alternating direction. Additionally, lower numbered streets are in the south, with numbers getting higher as you travel North. The north-south avenues are very wide, with several lanes of traffic. Even the streets are more than twice the width of typical London streets. With such simplicity, almost no one who lives in New York owns an atlas of the city. By contrast, every Londoner owns a London A-Z atlas. It's virtually impossible to find your way around without one.
London traffic is hindered by the absence of any cross-city motorway. Thus, there's no quick way to get from the west side of town to the east. Some roads turn ninety degrees, then dead end, leaving a driver to follow a very convoluted path to navigate on his way. When you add up the traffic, the congestion charge and the difficulty, and expense, of finding parking in central London, if I lived in the city, I wouldn't bother owning a car. As far as the slow average speed goes, maybe everyone could just hurry up ands raise the average?

Nando Too!

Nando's car has broken down! Recently, he was left stranded. Someone told him he had a blown head gasket, which is usually an expensive repair, possibly more than he paid for the car. That leaves our household totally carless, at the moment. Hitler's Nephew doesn't own a car and Nando and I own ones that are inert. Hitler's Nephew does own a motorcycle, which he conned someone out of, but for some strange reason, he's put it in our back garden and doesn't use it. It's been there for over a month, since before he went on vacation. I suspect it's because he's too much of a weenie to ride it in the winter. I wish I could use it, but since I can't stand him and we are not speaking, that's not going to happen. In any case, Nando's not happy about not having a serviceable car. "I don't know how you do it," he said, commenting on the fact that I've gone four months on public transport. At this point, I don't have much choice.

Death Proof

This past Saturday night, I went to see Quentin Tarantino's "Death Proof." Originally released in the USA as half of a double feature, entitled, "Grindhouse" (the other half coming from Robert Rodriguez), disappointing ticket sales for "Grindhouse" in the states prompted Tarantino to agree to the studio's suggestion that they be released separately. Thus, here in Europe, we have "Death Proof," on its own. This film is a tribute to 70's slasher and muscle car films. Having read a couple of reviews which alternated between mixed, half-hearted praise and downright panning, I think the European reviewers have it wrong. That's probably because they aren't as familiar with the style of films Tarantino is trying to emulate, possibly because they are too young. Also, being from Europe, they just might not be getting the "American" feel of this film. Those reviewers who had anything good to say about "Death Proof," seemed to focus on the car chase sequences. While those are good, I think the other parts of the film are also entertaining, just in a different way.
The film shows a character, known as Stuntman Mike, stalk two groups of sexy, young women. He uses a stunt car to kill and is brilliantly played by Kurt Russell. The majority of the film is spent getting to know the women, as we listen in to their conversations about sex and dating. I find it interesting that the protagonists in the last three films that Tarantino has done, are women. First, there was "Jackie Brown," then "Kill Bill (volumes I and II...Tarantino speaks of them as one film), and now "Death Proof." That's over half his filmography. Perhaps he finds women as fascinating as I do. Not only are the women in "Death Proof" all visually good looking, Tarantino equips them with stereotypical, Tarantino dialog. While one might be tempted, at first, to dismiss the dialog as the unrealistic fantasy of a male screenwriter, given the enormous difficulty in writing dialog for characters of the opposite gender to the writer's, my experience of listening to the podcasts of my good friend, Anjelika Jinxs (www.naivelondongirl.com ), leads me to conclude that some young women do actually talk this way. All through the film, I kept being reminded of Anjelika talking with her friend and co-presenter, Wanda. If you haven't checked out Anjelika's "Naive London Girl" podcast, do so. They are very "adult" in content, but also very funny. Back to "Death Proof," one reviewer actually complained that the women are all sexy and dressed in revealing outfits. Duh! I'm thinking he must be gay. Far from being a negative, I'd say that's a plus, especially for male viewers. None of the women in the film are size zero waifs. They are curvy, real women. One even has a little bit of a belly going on.
The crowning glory for "Death Proof," as far as I'm concerned, is an aspect that, so far as I've read, has been totally lost on the reviewers. The second half of the film follows Stuntman Mike's second group of potential victims. These girls are working on shooting a movie, but the plot line centers around stuntwoman turned actress, Zoe Bell, playing herself. Zoe has a compulsion to drive a 1970, white, Dodge Challenger and perform a stunt called, "ship's mast" with it. Why is that significant? Well, if you have to ask, then you, like the reviewers, is missing out on one of the best aspects of "Death Proof." A 1970, white, Dodge Challenger is the car from the film "Vanishing Point" (1971). The fact that Tarantino has Zoe, and another of the girls, being fans of that film was great. The girls even refer to "Vanishing Point" as one of the greatest movies ever made, in the dialog. I'd qualify that by saying, "the greatest car film ever made," but it is in my top five. I love that Tarantino is also into "Vanishing Point." For most of my life, I thought it was just me. If you see "Vanishing Point," it takes "Death Proof" to another level. Zoe Bell ends up on the hood (bonnet) of the speeding Challenger, during a car chase sequence with Stuntman Mike in another 70s era muscle car, a Dodge Charger. The action, here, is truly breathtaking and Tarantino is quick to point out that no CGI or sped up film techniques were used to make the sequence. The cars are real and are really being driven as fast as they seem. This beats the hell out of the fake looking stuff you get in "The Fast and the Furious" franchise.
"Death Proof" has a simple plot, as is typical of the types of films it's emulating. It's not Shakespeare, but great escapist entertainment. It was able to hearken me back to my youth, when I spent many an afternoon in a darkened cinema, enjoying thrilling car chases. Tarantino manages to wed that to my adult interest in women and bring the whole package into the noughties. I found a common bond with the film maker. Perhaps we are both products of the same era.

Bluetooth Bite

For some reason, 23-year-old, Frankie Hulme, decided that it would be a good idea to run across a £170,000 Lamborghini, Murcielago, he found parked along a curb. Watched by some of his friends, one of them cleverly decided to film the drunken prank on his mobile phone. Frankie's stunt put three dents in the roof of the Italian supercar. The genius friend decided to share the clip of the stunt with friends at a pub, four days later. Unfortunately, when he sent the clip using bluetooth, everyone in the pub who had bluetooth received it. One of the people who received the clip happened to be an employee of the owner of the Lamborghini. Like a good employee, he forwarded it to his boss. The car's owner showed the clip to the police.
As a result of all this, Frankie ended up convicted of criminal damage, in Norwich Crown Court. In addition to being sentenced to 100 hours of community service, Frankie has been ordered to pay £1,000 compensation to the car's owner. Now, the bit I don't understand is why was he only ordered to pay £1,000 compensation, when he caused £20,000 in damages? In case you're feeling sorry for unemployed Frankie Hulme, the judge is letting him pay the compensation in installments of only £25 per month. I feel sorry for the beautiful car.

Banning Cars

Recently, this dork from the Liberal-Democrats, in Britain, called for the banning of petrol cars in the UK, by 2040. Chris Huhne, the "Environment spokesman" for the party, came out with this crap in order to "tackle climate change." I am so sick of people asking for this and that to be "banned." If consumers want vehicles that don't emit CO2, then the market will provide them. In fact, as I have previously said, the market is poised to do just that, with the pending introduction of hydrogen burning vehicles. Politicians can't solve problems, they can only create them. All that they can do, in government, is apply force. Hopefully, Huhne will eliminate his "carbon footprint," by shooting himself. For the moment, at least, we have the satisfaction that Huhne's party is not "in power."

An Italian Car

Last night, I went to Heathrow Airport and picked up a rented car. I had decided that because I needed to go to Pinewood studios during the day today, then back to work at the restaurant, it would be too inefficient to do that on public transportation. I shopped around for the best deal, then settled on Budget, through Ebookers. Their price was about 25% cheaper than the quotes I had been getting directly from the car hire firms.
When I arrived at Budget for my 9PM reservation, they put me in an Italian car. It was the latest edition of the Fiat Punto, an economy car. Although I was after cheap transportation, I was pleasantly surprised with the Fiat. The styling was massively improved over older Puntos. The car felt solidly put together and had all the bells and whistles one might want. Equipped with a CD stereo, power windows, power door locks, electrically remote control side mirrors, power steering, and air conditioning, this economy car provided a pleasing degree of luxury.
Okay, it wasn't as fast as my old BMW, but it didn't feel like a stone, either. I managed to coax it up to almost 100 mph, but it seemed more comfortable between 80 and 90. Acceleration was slow, but that's not surprising for an economy model. I was just pleased to be driving again, even if it was only for one day. Racing home to see the 10PM re-broadcast of "Eastenders," the car felt light and nimble, but with a solid steering feel. After parking in front of the house, I looked forward to being able to enjoy an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Driving is one of the most enjoyable experiences in life. There is a special bond between a man, or a woman, and a car.

Sold Out

Tonight, I acted on my plan to phone about a few cars I found in the weekly "Ad Trader." Hitler's Nephew has started buying the paper, so I looked at it after he went to bed, last night. It saves me paying for it and, in a way, I get even with him for using my plates. The latest edition came out yesterday, so I was following up as early as I could. I called about the car that was my first choice on the list. A nice sounding, older, woman's voice politely informed me that it was sold already. Drat! I thanked her and hung up. Why did I thank her, she gave me bad news? I dialed my second choice. Some guy answered. "It's sold," he said. Double drat!! Even though I don't know why I am doing it, I thanked him too and hung up.
What's going on? Why is it all the cars I am interested in seem to be sold out before I get a chance at them? I dialed my third choice. This time, the phone just rang and rang, but wasn't answered. Frustrated, I went downstairs and told Nando what happened. He told me the weekly, free paper we get which comes on Thursday had arrived. I looked through the classifieds in it. Not one ad within my budget. Looks like I am still on the bus, for now. At least Nando and I get to share a couple of cold beers. Being foreigners, Nando and I haven't acquired the British taste for room temperature beer. We like ours ice cold. As I knock back a cold Becks, I think about cars. Somewhere out there is a car for me.

Things Can Always Get Worse

When I was a kid, I had Bill Cosby albums, with him doing stand up comedy. I remember one bit he did when he said not to ever say, "things couldn't get any worse." They can and if you say they can't, they probably will. Last Sunday evening, I was driving home from London when my car began losing power. Looking in my rear view mirror, I could see smoke trailing from my car. Not a good sign. At that point on the motorway, the hard shoulder was blocked off by cones, due to some ongoing construction, or some such nonsense. I managed to keep the car going, but the speed I was able to get out of it was getting slower and slower. Finally, the cones ended and I was able to pull over. As I eased up off the throttle, the engine stalled.
I coasted to a stop on the hard shoulder, clear of all lanes of traffic. My car has only ever conked out once before. That time, it turned out to be a minor problem with an induction hose. This time, I feared things had gotten worse. Smoke was coming from underneath the engine. I tried to restart the car a couple of times, but it wasn't sounding like it was turning over normally. After calling the Royal Automobile Club (RAC), I sat on the side of the road, reading a book, while waiting for their rescue vehicle to arrive. That's the thing about Britain, there's a lot of royal this and royal that. Comes with having a queen, I suppose. One really frustrating aspect was that I was only a mile from my exit for home. So close and yet, so far.
The RAC man arrived in less than an hour. I wonder if there are any RAC women? I have never had a woman turn up on a recovery. That would be different. Some hot blond, brunette, or redhead shows up in an RAC boiler suit, unzipped enough to show a little cleavage. Anyway, this time it was a man, as usual. After inspecting the car and crawling underneath, he informed me that the pool of liquid forming under the vehicle was oil. Not good. The car was disgorging it's lifeblood on the side of the motorway. The engine was blown. He started making preparations to tow it to my house, while I let the news sink in.
In some ways, I wasn't surprised. My car had been leaking oil and coolant for two years, and I'd put next to no money into it, by way of maintenance, for at least that long. The neglect was based on one simple fact. I didn't have the money to pay for servicing. My car, a BMW 730i, is 12 years old and has 162,000 miles on it. I was impressed every day when it would start and get me to work. I thought I had blown the engine the previous time it broke down, nine months ago, but I just had a busted hose that time. It soldiered on, like a trooper. It was the best car I ever owned and means a lot to me. I even lived in it for two months, back in the autumn of 2002, when my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, locked me out of our marital home. I spent Thanksgiving in the car, in November, 2002. Now, it's gone, or will be when the scrap people pick it up. It's kind of like the destruction of the Enterprise, in "Star Trek III: the Search for Spock." The trail of smoke from my car reminiscent of the trail of smoke from the Enterprise hull, as it spiraled into the Genesis planet. In the film, the Enterprise was blown up deliberately, in order to evade capture by the Klingons. I didn't blow up my car deliberately. So maybe they aren't similar. Perhaps my car's death is more like the destruction of the Enterprise D in the film, "Star Trek: Generations." There, the Enterprise D suffers a catastrophic warp core breech and the saucer section crashes into a planet.
On Earth, just as in "Star Trek," life goes on. I have been adjusting fairly well to life without a car, rediscovering buses. I am torn between buying a cheap car and a cheap motorcycle. I don't have much money, but thanks to a generous birthday gift from someone close to me, I am better off than I otherwise would be. It will be at least two years before I will be in a financial position to buy a car as nice as the one I had. In the meantime, I will have to make do on the cheap. The touching tag line at the end of "Star Trek: the Motion Picture," seems appropriate. "The Human adventure is just beginning."

Passing Two Lorries

I was driving home, Friday, after stopping at the supermarket, when I noticed a fairly new Porsche 911 in my rear view mirror. The road to Bracknell, from Sandhurst, alternates between four lanes and two, in several places. When I first noticed the Porsche, we were on the four lane section along side the Meadows shopping centre, in Sandhurst, from whence I had just departed. After a traffic light, the road narrows to just two lanes, one in either direction. I usually try to pass as many cars as possible before it narrows to two lanes and that day was no exception. I tried to be quick about it, as a courtesy to the Porsche driver, as he seemed to be trying to do the same. I wasn't quite able to overtake a French car, driven by some woman, before the road narrowed. I felt a bit frustrated at this, because while she wasn't driving excessively slowly, she wouldn't go as quickly as I would. I noticed the Porsche drop into line a couple of cars behind me. He hadn't been as aggressive as I expected, given what he was driving.
I impatiently followed the dame in the French car, a Renault or Peugeot, or something like that, waiting for the road to widen again, just before the next light. Jockeying for position, approaching the light, I was ever mindful of the Porsche behind me. While I was driving my trusty BMW 730i, with 200 horsepower, the 911, in the hands of any descent driver, could eat me alive. Just for fun, I was trying to see how long I could stay ahead of the 911. This particular traffic light is invariably red, so the key is lane selection. After the light, there is only a short distance till the road narrows again and the two lanes of traffic have to merge into one. Sometimes, there is the opportunity to pass some of the slower cars before it narrows. It's frustrating to get stuck behind a slow car there, because it's a long stretch before the opportunity to pass again. Waiting for the light to turn green, I flipped through the radio stations on my car stereo, looking for a descent song. Friday evening rush hour traffic was on the heavy side. This is the last traffic light before Bracknell.
The light turned green and the waiting cars began to move. I'd opted for the right lane again, as is usually best at this intersection. American readers should remember that we drive on the wrong side of the road, here in Britain, so the right lane is the passing lane, here. I managed to pass a couple of the slower cars on the left, but still ended up stuck behind the woman in the French car. The French may do lovely things with snails and champagne, but I am underwhelmed with their autos. This broad was holding up some serious German iron and she wasn't even that good looking. The 911 didn't fare much better and he was still a couple of cars behind me. This guy driving it seemed to lack the killer instinct. Although his car was faster than mine, he didn't seem to have the cojones to press that advantage. We followed along, single file, as the road gently curved on the way out of Sandhurst. I abandoned the radio and switched to my Girls Aloud CD, selecting a fast track, "Something Kinda Ooooh." It's appropriate music to drive fast to.
The road passes through a final roundabout (traffic circle for you Americans) at the bottom of a hill, then heads uphill through Bracknell Forest, toward Bracknell Town. Just as it starts uphill, it widens again to two lanes, allowing the passing of slower moving vehicles. Ahead, I could see a long line of cars behind a lorry moving up the hill. Acceleration is made more difficult, because you are going uphill at this point. I urged as much power as I could from 12 year old Beemer, slingshoting into the right lane coming out of the roundabout. In my rear view mirror, I could see the Porsche do the same. Finally, the dame in the French car fell by the wayside. Still, I accelerated. The Porsche had finally caught up with me and was hugging my rear bumper. Just past the crest of this hill, the road narrows again, so there is a limited time in which to pass as much of the slower traffic as possible. I could see myself closing on the lorry, but I was quickly running out of room. The angled arrows appeared, indicating that it was time to merge. I was running out of roadway. I pressed on, running across the chevrons on my right side as the lane narrowed, but just managed to slip ahead of a minivan. I had ended up right behind the lorry. Even though I cleared the minivan with plenty of room to spare, the driver was one of these chimps who can't stand to be passed by anyone else. He flashed his lights at me, which is what drivers do here, rather than blowing their horns, to signal disapproval. Screw him and his petulant, luminant outburst, I was looking for a way to get around this lorry ahead of me (for my American readers, a lorry is a truck). The Porsche hadn't had the stones I did, so he merged in even further behind me than he was before. That was the last I saw of him.
The road dips down into a small valley, before rising again, up another hill, with evergreen pine forest on either side. Opportunities to pass are rare, especially if there is any degree of oncoming traffic. At the top of the final hill, the road passes through a roundabout where the turn off for Crowthorne is. It opens into two lanes briefly, just going into the roundabout. The roundabout is narrow, but with the right timing,it's possible to stay right, as if you are making a U turn, then merge back left and pass a slow vehicle on the roundabout. The lorry was long, being a tractor trailer combination, but that was my plan. It would only work if none of the vehicles on the oncoming side were turning left at the roundabout. As the lorry began to slow and stay to the left, as expected, I scanned ahead. I could see no left turn signals flashing. I maintained speed and began passing the lorry to my left. Entering the roundabout fast, I slingshoted around it and out the other side, completing the pass without causing the lorry driver to have to brake. Ah, the adrenaline rush of success.
Ahead, the road widens to two lanes again, as the road from Crowthorne merges in from the left. It stays two lanes for about a quarter of a mile, where it enters another roundabout. Coming out of that roundabout, the road becomes single lane again. Up ahead, I saw yet another lorry! This one was from Waitrose supermarket, which is a common sight in and out of Bracknell, as there is a big Waitrose depot in Bracknell's southern industrial area. I roared ahead without hesitation, Girls Aloud egging me on. I needed to catch that Waitrose lorry by the next roundabout, or I would be stuck behind him the rest of the way into town. I stayed in the right lane, accelerating all the way. The roundabout ahead was the intersection with Nine Mile Ride (isn't that a cool name for a road?) and the right lane in the roundabout is supposed to be used for turning right. There was no one ahead of me. Traffic entering the roundabout from Nine Mile Ride, to the right, or anyone on the oncoming side, turning left, would screw things up for me, as one must yield to traffic from the right at roundabouts. However, oncoming traffic continuing straight would cause the Nine Mile Ride traffic to have to yield to them, so that would help me. It was going to be close. As I approached the roundabout, I scanned the traffic on the right, prepared to hard brake if a vehicle was coming to intersect my path. It looked clear. The green and white Waitrose tractor trailer slowed to enter the roundabout. I maintained speed, hugging the right lane in the roundabout, passed the green cab of the lorry, eased up off the throttle and flicked the wheel to the left. Girls aloud sang away, "Something kinda ooooh...makes my heart go boom-boom..." I made it, with room to spare. Ping Pang! Two lorries passed in two roundabouts. The Porsche left far behind. Oh, it's great to be alive and driving a well built, German car.

I Got Something Done Today

When Nando got home from work, today, I asked him if he would give me a ride to pick up my car when it was ready. Of course he said yes. As I have said before, he may be a racist, but he's a nice guy. At that point, the mechanic's hadn't called, yet. I was having an MOT test on my car, which is a scam annual examination cars over three years old require, here in the UK. It's similar to scams run in various American states. You know how it goes. Mandated by law, you take your car to an "approved" testing station, where it's inspected. If it passes, no problem, but if the mechanic determines certain things are below standard, you have to have them repaired. I have been dreading it, this year, as I was certain that a number of expensive repairs would be required. There is always the worry that dishonest mechanics will fail it, just to sell you some repairs. Also, the price has gone up. It used to be £35. Now, it's £50. That's almost $100 in American money. I used to pay $14 for one of these type inspections, back when I lived in New York.
I had never used this mechanic before, but it was near to where I lived and took credit cards. The woman behind the service counter had said they'd call me and tell me what needed to be repaired in order to pass. When I asked Nando, it was after 4:30PM and I still hadn't heard anything. I was worried that I might end up having to leave the car there overnight. How would I get to work in the morning? Suddenly, while I was talking to Nando, the phone rang. I suspected it was the mechanic's and I was right. The woman sounded so cheerful when I answered. I gritted my teeth in anticipation of the verdict. What she said was, "Mr. Brennan, your car passed. You can pick it up as soon as you want." Wow! What great news. They only had to replace a couple of light bulbs and the whole thing only cost me £60. What a relief. Nando drove me to pick up my car and said he might try using these folks as well. I'm good for another year.