My trip to Birmingham to be on hand for my Dad’s hospitalisation got off
to an inauspicious start when I ground to a halt after eleven miles (189 to go)
just past Scotch Corner on the A1(M) due to a nine vehicle collision just
ahead, which caused a two hour standstill (of the proper engine off, get out
and stroll around the carriageway variety) made tolerable only by having a book
on hand to pass the time, and by the thought that it was better to be delayed
behind such an accident than to be part of it; once allowed to continue it was
slow going through successive road works, staring through a salt-splattered
windscreen into a setting sun, which made the onset of dusk positively welcome (less
so the nightfall as my dirt-encrusted headlamps struggled to pierce the gloom)
but eventually I arrived at the hospital having taken six and a half hours to
cover the two hundred miles.
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