I feel rather like an American on a tour of Europe - "If it's Thursday, it must be Venice." Only in my case, "If it's Thursday, I must be en route for Bristol again." The novelty of bombing up and down between North Wales and Bristol is, I must confess, beginning to pall now. Last week, I drove back with a nail in my rear, nearside tyre, although I didn't realise that until it went into the garage yesterday to be looked at.
This week, I drove down in the company of idiots. There were the usual ones who are sure the road belongs to them and can't understand why anyone should have the temerity to be in front of them and then there was 'Super-Idiot'. This clown was so incensed that there was a car in front of him in the outside lane, that he switched straight from outside to inside lane, undertook a car in the middle lane and then shot back into the outside lane and continued his journey at 10,000 miles an hour.
However, you can bet your last month's salary that he will get away with his behaviour scot free while, in another place, some hapless motorist trundling along an urban road at two miles over the speed limit, will be speedgunned and ticketed before you can say Jack Robinson.
(Who is he, anyway?)