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The Tea Maker
I’ve recently returned from the Lake District. I love it there, except for two things. Birmingham on the way North and Birmingham on the way South again. We should start a campaign to either move the Lake District or to hire a company that can finish Birmingham.
Birmingham is the second largest city in the UK after London. On my way home from the Lakes I was following the M6, which would lead me straight into the largest, most complex and infuriating set of roadworks in the world. They’ve been trying to complete, repair, widen or resurface the Birmingham motorway system since the fucking Romans left and they still haven’t succeeded.
My only saving grace was that my junction for the M5 motorway was just inside the start of the roadworks. Everyone heading for the South West edged into the nearside lane, ready to make the switch. The overhead signs told us the M5 junction was now only a mile ahead, then we were told there was only half-a-mile to go, then 400 yards, then 200. Then we were told the junction was closed and that there were more major roadworks and narrow lanes ahead.
There was also a sign that mentioned something about following a diversion system, but I missed that because “someone” sitting next to me spoke to me… something about calming down and not to swear so much. Also something about signs not being able to hear me anyway.
An hour later I was still driving around Birmingham looking for a sign back to the M5. I had been forced off the motorway and was now passing through what looked like Birmingham’s entry into a War Zone Look-Alike Competition.
I was hopelessly lost and thinking about how much I hated Birmingham when I was stopped at a red light. A truck pulled alongside me so I swallowed my pride, rolled down the window and shouted, “How do I get onto the M5 from here?”
The trucker shouted back at me “Can’t you read?” He didn’t actually use these words but that’s what he was trying to communicate to me.
“I don’t have a map.” I lied.
“You don’t need a fucking map. Look!” and he pointed through the traffic lights to a huge sign, which basically said, Turn Left for M5.
By the time I’d thought about something witty and devastating to throw back at him, the lights changed and he drove off. So I adopted a casual look, moved forward, stalled and missed the turn of the lights. But I caught them when they changed again, made the left-hand turn and found myself on the M5 – North.
I fucking hate Birmingham.
The Tea Maker
PS: You can comment on this story by emailing me at [email protected] and I’ll respond to your emails in next week’s column. Your email address will never be published.
