Saturday morning. I'm in Glasgow and running low on fuel, but it's okay cos I know where a petrol station is. The fuel light's been on for a while and I've probably only got about 4 miles left in the tank, but it's okay 'cos I know where I'm going and as long as I go straight there everything will be fine. Then WHAM! What's the least expected mid-winter obstacle you could possibly imagine?
A f*cking Orange Walk. WTF??? In December??? What are the odds? Now I'm stuck idling, burning precious fuel.
This isn't the first time I've been ambushed like this. Seems like every time I'm really in a hurry a Walk will descend on me from nowhere, like an over-elaborate trap sprung by Dastardly and Mutley; I could practically hear the flea bitten pooch snickering. And on that subject ...
Why did DD bother with all those traps and diversions. Each race sees him clear of the field by a country mile only to stop dead in his tracks so he can implement whatever Machiavellian scheme he has in mind. Why Dick, why? You would have won easily if you'd only just kept driving.
Anyhow, I'd normally have taken a detour, but that would inevitably entailed me getting hopelessly lost and winding up dead (in a mobility sense) by the roadside. I chose to park in town and wait instead. At least it gave me a chance to go buy that James Galway CD I'd been thinking about ... but not really :-)
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