Tales from the qual face

It’s about 9 miles from my house to the CPCAB offices in Qualsborough, along roads of varying widths but almost every inch of them edged with green. All very blissful and bucolic, you’d think, except that the local powers-that-be seem to have a liking for blocking off tiny sections of it on a regular basis. Today’s hold-up came at Polsham, a tiny cluster of houses edging a busy part of the route, where approximately 4 miles of traffic cones had been erected to protect two workmen, one of whom had been helpfully equipped with a shovel, who were staring gloomily into a small hole.

My interest levels weren’t sufficiently high to allow me to research the purpose of said hole, but it took three changes of the lights for me to get through.

Slight embarrassment a bit further on when I nearly flattened Walking Man, who was just on the other side of a right-angle bend whilst I was attempting to make up for lost time (in other words, clogging it a bit). I’ve seen Walking Man once or twice a week for the last two years. He is of the age where I imagine his GP has ordered him to take lots of exercise for his health and is always striding out in a purposeful fashion. After about a month of driving past him I rather timidly waved in acknowledgement, and he returned the compliment. We now smile broadly at each other and wave enthusiastically.

I suspect this may change after this morning’s near-miss though. Although he did make some sort of flapping gesture at me with the hand I can see. Difficult to say if he was smiling or not as his head was largely buried in the hedge.

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