Driving home tonight was an experience, to say the least.
Having finally finished at 7pm – hunting bugs on a site that was due to go live, written by the newest colleague, and whose job depended on it working properly – I ended up driving on icy roads, through patches of freezing fog.
Even better, the A11 had standing snow (not much, admittedly – but enough) which reduced the clear road to one lane in each direction. And once you’ve got someone on that who’s driving at 30mph, pretty much every else behind them’s driving at 30 too. Well, unless you’re one of the cretins who decides to still go belting past in the (snow-covered) outside lane.
All told it took me an hour and a quarter to get home, rather than the normal 45 minutes. I won’t deny, I drove like a little old lady on the bit from the A11 to home, because those roads were really interesting – and of course I’d never live it down if I crashed again on the same road as before. (Although speaking of which, I’ve now seen the results of at least five other spangs on that same corner since I whacked it)
In all, a spectacularly no-fun drive, but at least I got from B to A safe and intact. And that’s what it’s all about really, isn’t it?