a voice from the overground

Sobering sight on the way home or the unstoppable urge to stare at a car crash.

On the way home from another shitty day in the office, which started with a flat battery in my car and a call to the AA, I was stuck in a traffic jam on the hell hole that is the M25.

It was a proper out-of-your-car engine-off chat-to-the-van-driver-next-to-you kind of jam. Ahead, about 200 yards away, I could see the ambulance lights and the highway agency guys stopping all 5 lanes of traffic.

After 15 minutes the inside two lanes were opened and we crawled past. I should have known from the looks on the faces of the Highway Agency guys that I shouldn’t be looking. And the state of the motorbike spread across three lanes should have told me not to look.

But it’s compulsive, isn’t it. The  urge to crawl past an accident at 5 mph and ogle at the damage. This time I wished I hadn’t. The poor guy was too close, I could see too much blood and the expressions on the faces of the ambulance men told me there was more I wasn’t seeing. I felt physically sick and grateful that Grace was asleep in the back.

However it puts things into perspective. There was me, pissed off after a hard day in the office, grumping home on a Friday night to Suzy and our house full of brick dust and builders mess, and I suddenly realised that life is not that bad. I’m not spread across two lanes of Surrey motorway.  It made me pull my socks up.

I didn’t break the speed limit all the way home (considering I am Mr 90mph-change-the-cd-check-the-traffic-on-my-smart-phone this was an achievement). Maybe I’ll take more care now.

My heart goes out to the poor bastard on the tarmac and his family.


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