“You know all those religious do-gooders? The ones who keep harping on that we should all go out and love everyone we meet, regardless of whether they’re Fred West or not? I’d like to see them still feeling that way in a motorway service station on a busy Friday lunchtime. Or perhaps they would. I dunno. Sometimes I wonder if they’re really human. Or perhaps they are, but lying hypocrites. I suspect in reality they feel just like the rest of us about our fellow man.
That one was the pits. Even as far as motorway services usually go. Chairs scraping across the floor everywhere. Lousy acoustics. Voices. Voices. Voices. Couldn’t hear myself think. And everybody looking bloody ugly. Makes you despair sometimes.
Oh look at him speeding up in the fast lane, him over there in his brand new black 4×4. Makes you wanna chuck a brick through his rear window. And as for this comedian coming down the slip road at full tilt. Looking at him pelting alone, so convinced everyone will get out of his way. Must be a Tory.
What a funny looking van. Must be a French one.
This weather’s getting worse. You wouldn’t think it was the end of June. It’s getting so dark it feels like a December twilight.
Christ, how many more want to come onto this damned road? Look at them all piling on. Makes me feel like shouting “there’s no room, you wankers, turn back!”
Stop the world, I want to get off. Where the hell is everybody going anyway? All of us in such a hurry.
Bloody hell, the spray. Like being slapped by big waves at the seaside. Won’t be able to see my hand in front of my face in a minute.
“CONGESTION” sign flashing overhead. Yeah, tell me about it. The whole world’s congested if you ask me. Getting harder and harder to find anywhere that isn’t bloody congested. No wonder people who live in the middle of nowhere are so bloody smug all the time. They’re probably the ones preaching to us about all loving each other! They wouldn’t feel that way if they were on this road at the moment, I can tell you that for free.
Just seen the sign to Wigan Pier. It was George Orwell’s birthday the other day, read it on the Internet. He died quite young didn’t he? Compared to a lot nowadays I mean. He must have only been in his 40s. Wonder what he’d think if he was around now, our Eric. All our governments spying on us. Bloody propoganda everywhere. Do This. Do That. Don’t say this. Don’t think that.
Does your head in.
Oh! Thanks for suddenly pulling right out in front of me like that, you tossser! Yeah, it would be a bloody Tesco’s lorry wouldn’t it! Figures. Still, if the Apocalypse suddenly kicks off right now, we can raid his refrigerated load for vital supplies. That should keep us all going for a bit.
Yeah, and if it did, I bet those caravanners wouldn’t share their tea with us. I got stuck on a motorway down near Taunton once, for hours and bloody hours. Couple behind me, in their caravan, got in the back and had a brew-up! Didn’t invite anyone else in though.
I tell you something, if the Apocaylypse did kick off, all this motorway nonsense would disappear at once. If we got booted back to the Dark Ages, this would just become a track, just like any other. You might have people driving horse-and-carts along here. Bands of pilgrims perhaps, only why they’d be heading up to Lancashire I don’t know. Be more likely to be going to Canterbury wouldn’t they? There’d be troubadours. I quite fancy that. Roaming along here, playing on a harmonica for a loaf of bread. Have to learn how to play one first though I suppose.
As long as we don’t all end up eating each other, turning into zombies. That’d be a bit shit wouldn’t it. Mind you, ha ha, some people I meet you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference!
At last, the Lancaster sign. Can’t wait to get off this bloody road. It does your head in on a day like this. It really does”.


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