Road to hell.

I was a little fed up last night for no particular reason; sleep evaded me so I decided to go for a drive.
It was around three-o clock in the morning that I found myself on the outskirts of Manchester wondering why I had bothered. Not for me the solitude and tranquillity of that chap in the advert on TV who goes for a night drive whilst Richard Burton charms him with his silken voice banging on about plumbers, hotel porters and various tradesmen sleeping happily whilst he enjoys the pleasure of an uncluttered road.

One thing for sure they didn’t film that in Manchester. Gone are the days when everything stopped at midnight. Time was if you were seen on the streets after this time the police would stop you and enquirers would be made as to what it was you were up to. No, these days go down any street in Manchester at four in the morning and it will be like a Saturday afternoon in the city centre.

Its not just late revellers winding their way home either, I saw a young woman with a baby in a pushchair dragging a toddler along. Further along the same road I narrowly avoided running down a couple of pensioners struggling with a huge potted plant who without looking suddenly decided to cross the road after walking seven or eight yards past a pelican crossing.

During the hour and a half that I was out I saw three hitchhikers, one of whom was a young woman who should have known better than place herself in that situation. There were various groups of youths (I hesitate to say gangs) lolling around, some looking I thought very suspicious. I lost count of the cars driving about with headlights and rear lights extinguished, and there was one very dodgy looking geezer carrying a hold all who kept furtively looking over his shoulder as he stopped at various buildings and shops giving them the once over.

Far from it being a pleasant lonely drive in deserted streets with time to reflect on the meaning of life. It was more reminiscent of the taxi drive that Kurt Russell took with Ernest Borgnine in “Escape from New York”. Still there was one or two quiet moments, notably the time I spent warming the car up before I left the house, and the time I spent allowing the car to settle after I arrived back home (Twin turbo, you have to be gentle with these beasts).

My drive in to work this morning was only marginally more dangerous than last nights adventure. The time I spent waiting behind wheelie bin collecting lorries or crawling along behind those annoying little flea like vehicles that sweep the streets nowadays made me wonder why common sense doesn’t prevail. In most states of the Americas this kind of public function is performed after midnight when there are less people about. But then most people in this country would want a small fortune in unsociable hours pay to even think about it.