Well, took me an hour and a half to get home from work this evening. A journey of 33 miles, usually do-able in about 45 minutes, given the narrow, tractor-infested, hilly, blind-spot-filled roads I use.
Apart, that is, from the A303 (look on a map, American readers).
That is a fine, dual-carriageway-fied bit of road that allows you to overtake all the tractors, horseboxes, ancient farm trucks and doddery old twats who have been sat in front of you doing 20/30/35 miles an hour for the last 15 miles.
Apparently a truck full of flour had overturned* on the roundabout a few miles further on, so everyone was diverted off the road while the police made flour castles. Or maybe pancakes. I have no idea. They closed the road for bloody hours, anyway.
So, off we all went, through every Army camp in Wiltshire, a million cars nose to tail, various clever dicks doing u-turns in the road to find a different route. Yeah, good luck with that, matey.
After about 40 minutes of inching along, we got through a police traffic control checkpoint, most of the queue headed back to the main road and I continued along the glorious highways and byways of rural Wiltshire.
Well, it was a nice evening.
Other news: Went to Sussex and spent a lovely day with my Mum. We went to the Gribble Inn for lunch, where there was a beer festival with a live band. Hurrah. I had to be a bit guitar-nerdy and go and admire their 12-string**. They gave me their business card so I can email them with more nerdy questions at my leisure.
Also had the opportunity to admire my Eldest Nephew's new motorbike, which is huge. Much bigger than first-time bikes were when I was his age. Just as well, as he must be about 8 feet tall now. Maybe taller.
In case you were wondering, I had written a much longer*** post but bloody Blogger lost it when I tried to upload it. SO you get the condensed and less amusing version. Sozz.
*Been racking my brains for a hilarious "mix up" pun but failed. Be my guest.
**Insert double entendre here