“BIN YOUR LITTER – OTHER PEOPLE DO”
This frame, exported from my Dashcam, wins the prize for the most irrelevant and patronising road matrix sign that has ever distracted me on the motorway. What made it worse is that the next sign, which I almost missed because there was a lorry in the way, bore a pertinent message that the M1 was closed between junction 29 and 30.
Of course it’s important to bin your litter! It’s awful to see rubbish strewn along the roadside, but please could these overhead notices on fast roads be limited to relevant messages about the road ahead, allowing us to concentrate on the traffic, rather than taking advice on how we should behave?
It’s the “other people do” that riles me … hitting on the sheep mentality of the human race, with the implication that people are less likely to chuck their litter out of the car window if they are told other people put their litter in a bin!
Whilst that was the prize winner, the other entries during the four-hour journey were: “DON’T HOG THE MIDDLE LANE” (mostly ineffective, and on four-lane motorways, we now have third-lane hoggers); “DON’T DRIVE TIRED” (strategically placed when approaching the services), and “J40, 10 MILES, 6 MINUTES” (do people see that as a challenge?).
Finally, I arrived at my Mum’s care home. She was peacefully sleeping in her chair in the community area that was busier than usual for a Sunday, a bit like the roads had been. I kissed her awake and wished her happy Mother’s Day, and her lovely face lit up with recognition. She asked me who all these people were. At first glance it looked as if there were twice as many residents as usual … but us extras were just old children who’d come to visit our ancient mums on Mother’s Day!
I got chatting to a man who looked like a wizard, with long grey hair, whilst our respective mums dozed off again. When he told me his mum was approaching her hundredth birthday, I realised he was probably heading for eighty. He told me he had no intention of moving into residential care, and I replied that it wasn’t for me either. I told him it worried me that (in years to come) I might have a medical episode in a public place and get carted off to hospital – and then you’re in the system and what if you can’t get out?
When he replied that he hadn’t really thought about it to that extent, and looked a little concerned, I wished I’d kept my trap shut or talked about the weather, or something equally interesting … the motorway matrix signs, maybe?
Visit over, I headed to the Premier Inn. I normally book a Travelodge and was interested to see how the two compared. Premier Inns are slightly more expensive than Travelodge, and both do “dynamic pricing” making them more expensive if there is demand owing to an event, but Sunday is generally cheap, so I decided to try it as my usual place has gone a bit seedy in recent months (people smoking outside in pyjamas, pungent tobacco smells, hooded kids on bikes tapping on windows with deliveries, stuff like that).
My room at the Premier Inn was nice and quiet – perhaps because it was at the end of a corridor. Also, there wasn’t the constant banging of doors that reminds me of the start of the 1970s TV sitcom “Porridge” that was regularly on our TV, with the prison cell door slamming with an echo …
The layout of the room and the facilities were pretty much the same as I was used to down the road. The only thing that let it down was that, although it looked very clean, the ensuite smelled slightly of male piss. It was a smell I recognised from when I worked at a warehouse and the ladies’ toilets would sometimes smell that way if the floor had been mopped without changing the water that had been used to mop the floor next door in the gents’.
With the bathroom door closed, it was cosy as I stirred boiling water into my instant mash (not a pot noodle fan) and tucked into my salad box, whilst enjoying a drop of wine I’d decanted into a plastic water bottle to bring along.
Next morning, not too early, I visited Mum again. She asked how long I was here for, and I said I’d head off at my usual time, when they started getting lunch ready. When she remarked that I normally visit two days running, I reminded her I was there yesterday. We then had a recap of Mother’s Day, which gave us something to talk about …
Back down the motorway, I was pleased to find Greggs at the services had some spicy wedges left. I got home at a reasonable time, and unpacked the ridiculous amount stuff I’m compelled to take away with me just for one night.
I also binned my litter … because other people do.
Word on a Whim 