The curse of the Bank Holiday traffic

As many of you know Mr Napoleon Beelzebub closed his shop, Napoleon Beelzebub’s Very Strange Victorian Curiosity Shop about six or seven weeks ago. And although many of his treasures have been returned to the bowels of the earth and are now locked away in the vaults for eternity; several items had to be returned to artists. It is the SOR (sale or return) items that he had in his shop; mum said at the time that we would do this for him as a favour, after all Mr Beelzebub does get a hard time from folk.

So today we arranged to go on a little trip delivering items at two secret locations (its mums spy background coming out). The first location was a garden centre where we were delivering ceramics, small bottles designed to house genies, to a person in a car park with dark glasses on and a rolled up copy of The Times newspaper (that’s the person not the car park). Having first said “The begonias are looking remarkably well for this time of year” and getting the reply “Yes I have one in the potting shed that likes to sing songs by Elvis”.

The second location was in a quiet street near a ‘house for sale’ sign and this time we had to say “the rain is falling on your house” and the person this time (a different person) would say “Ah yes, so you like the water feature, I can leave it for you if you wish”. We were delivering painting of tempestuous weather in the wild hills of Wales to the second location.

Now as far as the deliveries went all was well and it was mission accomplished, however there was one thing overlooked in all the planning that only came to light when we stopped at the local garage for petrol before we set off on the mission.  Having been cut up and forced to wait by angry aggressive drivers determined to be first at the fuel pumps at all costs, it suddenly dawned on us it was in fact the bank holiday weekend. OH NO Bank holiday weekends on the roads in Britain are not good and today was a classic example of the bank holiday effect. People are very aggressive and everyone is determined they are going to be first to get to where they wish to get to. So drivers are hunched over the steering wheel faces pressed against the windscreen and snarling, grinding their teeth and driving like it’s the end of the world. And all so that they can go somewhere to relax (?) and enjoy the extra day off work. It’s a strange way to relax fighting on the central reservation of the bypass and jammed for hours waving your fists at other motorists or driving down the wrong side of the road because someone has the audacity to drive at the speed limit.

Anyway as I’m the eccentric child of cyberspace me and the dog were in the back of the car shouting BOO and LOOK OUT THERE’S A WHITE LION ON THE ROAD at other motorists and the dog would bite the odd wing mirror off cars towing caravans (they have those extended ones, ideal for a dog to bite off). And Mum would shout IDIOT at us.  

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