The Agony & The Ecstacy
Discussion
Having recently returned from a short vaccance en Bretagne I am moved to mull the disparity 'twixt the raw deal faced by the keen motorist here in Blighty and the Citronic delights of permanent terminal velocity enjoyed by our gallic neighbours just over the water.
My trip consisted of a jaunt to Portsmouth, overnight to Saint Malo, thence a wee sprint to the achingly beautiful painters' refuse of Pont Aven, using some of that nations's former Emperor's nicest routing.
Suffice to say, the first leg of this mini-tour was sheer agony. Brake, accelerate, accelerate some more, no, brake, hard, slow, stop, crawl, stop, services for an hour to let the congestion ease, more crawling, avoid mid lane hanger-induced collision, wonder why Vectra boy doesn't just move the
over when something twice his width hoves into view, curse as he rearranges the cap de baseball, stop, dribble, fume, accelerate, brake, confuse slushbox some more...aw b*ll8x - this is HELL...
But as dawn broke the following morn and the bow doors of some giant, concealed, cross channel floating slug opened it's vast bow doors, sunlight streamed in to the car decks and the promise of automotive release beckoned seductively as one by one, my fellow Britishers were awakened to the possibility of something better than the dire reality of our own, strangulated isle...
From the S-Type to my left and the E-Type somewhere to my right, the Boxster behind and the Audi S3 in front; we were all primed for freedom.
With the sat-nav doing it's thing, the marvellously light traffic of the port's townspeople moving off to work evaporated as the N165 appeared from nowhere. There was only one thing left to do.
I swear, I spent the next 2 hours at a steady 100 mph; just about acceptable for other people on board and proof positive of the value of cruise control when pressing on in Europe.
Every so often, Monsieur Jospin would have a do in his 406 TDi or whatever and then it was a great joy to flex the foot some, haul him back in and lope past at 120, 130 or even in one instance, a thoroughly creamy 145. And the beauty with such protracted high speed cruising meant the cruise control was creeping ever higher, only ever temporarily capped when the wind rustle persauded the good lady that Scotty really was being a little too liberal avec les crystalles dylithiumes.
A waft chez Lexiane at 110, maybe 120? That'll do very nicely indeed. Not quite M5 but for sheer effortlessness, only Crewe's 6.75 litre efforts deliver similar sensations. Truly wonderful.
Indeed, I spent a week marvelling at French road manners; it's a couple of years since last driving thereabout but good God, we British are an abysmal set of drivers (PHers excepted, naturellement); trucks and vans that saw you coming and stayed put and even when Mr.2 Horses and his 25hp bubble got an overtaking manoeuvre all wrong, he or she was SO quick to tuck back in, almost apologising for spoiling one's momentum. Total, utter, complete, joy. My Nazi wagon, had it been along would surely have enjoyed cracking 200. In 1200 miles I saw not one gendarme or his vehicle and I think the French Government prefers to spend it's taxpayers' loot on spy satellite cameras rather than criminalising it's very source of existence. I saw not one Gatso or other symbol of anal control freakery. In this respect, Vive la France, indeed.
And then back. Are we sure Swampy and his fellow naturists have left the protests along the Newbury by-pass? Is the A34 through Royal Berkshire, ever, not at gridlock? Makes you realise the M6 is not alone in near arterial finality. And the total abscence of lane discipline. What in the name of Arthur Miller are our traffic stazi doing targetting 'speeders' when quite clearly, the No.1 motoring crime in Blighty is lane hoggitus? A complete shambles.
You know, inspired by the high speed endeavours of that magical French sojourn, I wheeled out the Porker yesterday in a misguided fantasy to relive just a smidge of what had been so normal until so recently. But 15 minuts later I was putting the sucker back to bed in a state of sad dejection. TOO many people, TOO many cars, TOO many unfeasibly bad surfaces, TOO many protesting imbeciles; bloody awful...
And as I crashed, miserably in front of the TV, something dawned on me as I watched the countryside crew, another voice of Albion, mercilessly ground to naught. Like them, Bonnie Prince Charlie and many others, I realised that by being a taxpaying, hetero-sexual car loon, I was about as compatible with 'modern Britain' as the hound that Tony banks, bless 'im, wants to ban.
BTW, happy, albeit a belated felicitation, birthday, CarZee.
My trip consisted of a jaunt to Portsmouth, overnight to Saint Malo, thence a wee sprint to the achingly beautiful painters' refuse of Pont Aven, using some of that nations's former Emperor's nicest routing.
Suffice to say, the first leg of this mini-tour was sheer agony. Brake, accelerate, accelerate some more, no, brake, hard, slow, stop, crawl, stop, services for an hour to let the congestion ease, more crawling, avoid mid lane hanger-induced collision, wonder why Vectra boy doesn't just move the
over when something twice his width hoves into view, curse as he rearranges the cap de baseball, stop, dribble, fume, accelerate, brake, confuse slushbox some more...aw b*ll8x - this is HELL... But as dawn broke the following morn and the bow doors of some giant, concealed, cross channel floating slug opened it's vast bow doors, sunlight streamed in to the car decks and the promise of automotive release beckoned seductively as one by one, my fellow Britishers were awakened to the possibility of something better than the dire reality of our own, strangulated isle...
From the S-Type to my left and the E-Type somewhere to my right, the Boxster behind and the Audi S3 in front; we were all primed for freedom.
With the sat-nav doing it's thing, the marvellously light traffic of the port's townspeople moving off to work evaporated as the N165 appeared from nowhere. There was only one thing left to do.
I swear, I spent the next 2 hours at a steady 100 mph; just about acceptable for other people on board and proof positive of the value of cruise control when pressing on in Europe.
Every so often, Monsieur Jospin would have a do in his 406 TDi or whatever and then it was a great joy to flex the foot some, haul him back in and lope past at 120, 130 or even in one instance, a thoroughly creamy 145. And the beauty with such protracted high speed cruising meant the cruise control was creeping ever higher, only ever temporarily capped when the wind rustle persauded the good lady that Scotty really was being a little too liberal avec les crystalles dylithiumes.
A waft chez Lexiane at 110, maybe 120? That'll do very nicely indeed. Not quite M5 but for sheer effortlessness, only Crewe's 6.75 litre efforts deliver similar sensations. Truly wonderful.
Indeed, I spent a week marvelling at French road manners; it's a couple of years since last driving thereabout but good God, we British are an abysmal set of drivers (PHers excepted, naturellement); trucks and vans that saw you coming and stayed put and even when Mr.2 Horses and his 25hp bubble got an overtaking manoeuvre all wrong, he or she was SO quick to tuck back in, almost apologising for spoiling one's momentum. Total, utter, complete, joy. My Nazi wagon, had it been along would surely have enjoyed cracking 200. In 1200 miles I saw not one gendarme or his vehicle and I think the French Government prefers to spend it's taxpayers' loot on spy satellite cameras rather than criminalising it's very source of existence. I saw not one Gatso or other symbol of anal control freakery. In this respect, Vive la France, indeed.
And then back. Are we sure Swampy and his fellow naturists have left the protests along the Newbury by-pass? Is the A34 through Royal Berkshire, ever, not at gridlock? Makes you realise the M6 is not alone in near arterial finality. And the total abscence of lane discipline. What in the name of Arthur Miller are our traffic stazi doing targetting 'speeders' when quite clearly, the No.1 motoring crime in Blighty is lane hoggitus? A complete shambles.
You know, inspired by the high speed endeavours of that magical French sojourn, I wheeled out the Porker yesterday in a misguided fantasy to relive just a smidge of what had been so normal until so recently. But 15 minuts later I was putting the sucker back to bed in a state of sad dejection. TOO many people, TOO many cars, TOO many unfeasibly bad surfaces, TOO many protesting imbeciles; bloody awful...
And as I crashed, miserably in front of the TV, something dawned on me as I watched the countryside crew, another voice of Albion, mercilessly ground to naught. Like them, Bonnie Prince Charlie and many others, I realised that by being a taxpaying, hetero-sexual car loon, I was about as compatible with 'modern Britain' as the hound that Tony banks, bless 'im, wants to ban.
BTW, happy, albeit a belated felicitation, birthday, CarZee.
Morning Derestrictor..
Merci beaucoup pour les feliciations, mon ami..
Alas, we too felt the sadness of being reined in by Nanny Blair and his shoebox stormtroopers as we returned from Folembray last weekend.. I think the primary complaint voiced by all was the M25 crawl we all suffered on the way home on Sunday..
It is an unfortunate thing to be out on a Sunday here, where there are many people on the roads who really should not be there.. that classic English gag about the sunday driver is alive and well. It precipitates worse driving conditions at the weekend than during the weekday rush, when Mildred and Gerald are safely ensconced in their pension queue at the Lower Smegworth sub post office, instead of availing the outside world of their defective vision and co-ordination.
If we go out on a weekend, we really do have to get home before mid-afternoon on a Sunday if we're to avoid the weekly pilgrimage-du-mort of the en-numptied masses..
Getoutothefcukingway!!!!!! 
Merci beaucoup pour les feliciations, mon ami..
Alas, we too felt the sadness of being reined in by Nanny Blair and his shoebox stormtroopers as we returned from Folembray last weekend.. I think the primary complaint voiced by all was the M25 crawl we all suffered on the way home on Sunday..
It is an unfortunate thing to be out on a Sunday here, where there are many people on the roads who really should not be there.. that classic English gag about the sunday driver is alive and well. It precipitates worse driving conditions at the weekend than during the weekday rush, when Mildred and Gerald are safely ensconced in their pension queue at the Lower Smegworth sub post office, instead of availing the outside world of their defective vision and co-ordination.
If we go out on a weekend, we really do have to get home before mid-afternoon on a Sunday if we're to avoid the weekly pilgrimage-du-mort of the en-numptied masses..
Getoutothefcukingway!!!!!! Glad you had a pleasant trip, Derestrictor
There are still some roads in the UK where you can have a blast without fear of racking up the points but they are becoming fewer all the time. And the M25 on Sundays isn't one of them.
quote:Indeed, CarZee, yesterday's squirt round the M25 from leafy East Hertfordshire to Virgina Waters was a rare outing for me on a Sunday; normally I avoid that road on the weekends like a turd in a swimming pool. Journey there was good, the 65 miles took just over an hour, despite the best efforts of the CLODs (Centre Lane Only Drivers). Fortunately I had been forewarned about the 15 mile jam on the return leg (caused by a coach load of Countrysiders running over a fox?) and a detour on the resonably-quiet NCR bypassed it.
If we go out on a weekend, we really do have to get home before mid-afternoon on a Sunday if we're to avoid the weekly pilgrimage-du-mort of the en-numptied masses..
There are still some roads in the UK where you can have a blast without fear of racking up the points but they are becoming fewer all the time. And the M25 on Sundays isn't one of them.
quote:Absolute crap!
That's reality I'm afriad for being located in the Deep South.
THe M6 is crap all the way to Preston, the M1 is crap all the way to Leeds, the A1 is crap from there all the way to Gateshead.. and then becomes crap again all the way to Edinburgh. Leeds is a traffic nightmare, as is Manchester - especially the M60 where the Trafford Centre is located, when retards habitually queue for miles up the motorway to go and gawp at tat they can't afford anyway, with the 3 pebbles and a carrot they earn each month..
Arrrggghh.. a day out? To a ferkin shopping centre?? Cretins..
Anyway, I digress.. you'll have to go a lot further north than Cambridgeshire to find tranquil roads... and because we're determined to do that, Dunfries & Galloway authorities see fit to prosecute for Dangerous Driving for doing 100+ on the M74.. the A9 is Highway robbery central and the M8 is no picnic in any respect whatsoever....
So put down your 'anti-south' cudgel and talk sense, man!..
In fact, as Derestrictor so eloquently outlined above, you need to just go that bit further south than us lot for perfect driving conditions.. predicated primarily by sparsity of Ye Olde English Imbecile sur le continent.
CarrZee ...
You want to leave your southern enclave and head out into the countryside a bit. Oh, I forgot, the south is just one big conurbation now that Winchester is practically joined to Basingstoke ... or soon will be
This is the furthest north I have ever lived (being born in Kent) and it IS less populated by traffic than further south. By far!
You are talking motorways and we all know you can't drive quick of them nowadays ... and pray tell, what is the point? They're pretty straight you know. Adn if you want to make haste – you should have left earlier!
Don't think you're gonna get anywhere quickly on a motorway anymore – fact of life. I think what desres was going on about was driving in general – you can't equate mway driving here with mway driving in France – that's crazy.
I can head out into the countryside here (especailly north) and drive pretty quick and hardly see any other cars – try that round Ascot.
You want to leave your southern enclave and head out into the countryside a bit. Oh, I forgot, the south is just one big conurbation now that Winchester is practically joined to Basingstoke ... or soon will be
This is the furthest north I have ever lived (being born in Kent) and it IS less populated by traffic than further south. By far!
You are talking motorways and we all know you can't drive quick of them nowadays ... and pray tell, what is the point? They're pretty straight you know. Adn if you want to make haste – you should have left earlier!
Don't think you're gonna get anywhere quickly on a motorway anymore – fact of life. I think what desres was going on about was driving in general – you can't equate mway driving here with mway driving in France – that's crazy.
I can head out into the countryside here (especailly north) and drive pretty quick and hardly see any other cars – try that round Ascot.
Got to agree with Carzee regarding queues near the Trafford Centre though - who the feck queues on thier day off to go to a shopping centre. It's not like it's got anything in it that anyone could desparately need on a weekend. I've done it once when the place opened and it's a nice place but like any shopping centre it's full of ignorant miserable people bullying thier kids around clothes shops they don't want to go in to to buy tat they don't need. Only to bring it back the following week saying it doesn't fit after having worn it out to Lymm working mans club's annual pudding eating night.
And traffic is bad pretty much everywhere in England.
And traffic is bad pretty much everywhere in England.
quote:The benefit will be I'll be able to get ADSL when that happens.. won't ever have to leave the house again then
You want to leave your southern enclave and head out into the countryside a bit. Oh, I forgot, the south is just one big conurbation now that Winchester is practically joined to Basingstoke ... or soon will be
quote:but Mikey.. you keep on at my southern enclave, yet Cambs is the furthest north you've lived? I've lived oop north for most of my life and it's total twaddle to say that roads up there are any better than in Hants/Wilts....
This is the furthest north I have ever lived (being born in Kent) and it IS less populated by traffic than further south. By far!
quote:damned right we're talking motorways - or perhaps Derestrictor was alluding to 145MPH down D routes? Ah non..
You are talking motorways and we all know you can't drive quick of them nowadays ...
quote:I'm gonna slap you at BTaP for that comment
and pray tell, what is the point? They're pretty straight you know. Adn if you want to make haste – you should have left earlier!
quote:Absolute shite. The M50, M55 - in fact any spur off the M6 and the M6 itself north of Preston.. the M3 is pretty good too for the most part..
Don't think you're gonna get anywhere quickly on a motorway anymore – fact of life.
quote:equate of course not, but that's exactly what is being lamented here....
you can't equate mway driving here with mway driving in France – that's crazy.
quote:Why would I go up to Ascot for that when I have Hants & Wilts on my doorstep?
I can head out into the countryside here (especailly north) and drive pretty quick and hardly see any other cars – try that round Ascot.
I realised you were winding me up ten minutes ago and wouldn't have replied to that if I weren't so bored
The D routes are quite simply 'where it's at' and for personal replication of 'In Car 956' I can think of no finer way of travelling.
Your fellow routieres are but 911s to Derek's sublime 956 as you thump one gallic wheezer after another - and they really don't mind!
Imagine the sheer paradise of caning a 456GT along such roads, the wife asleep and McTweeny II slumbering aussi! Oh joy!
But anything hairy chested and rorty would suffice; these are the roads to die for and the maintenance of cannonballing momentum something to savour like the finest Indian spice.
Yessiree, the unabashed orgy of velocity, unhindered by a society's guilt ridden frown of artificial disapproval; that simple indulgence that only a speedo's needle heading south east can satisfy...
I do a quick land speed job in Blighty and the tossers want me shackled; I trip the light fantastic 'la bas' and I can bask in the warm radiation of an occasional smirk of admiration.
That's the difference, in the main and that's what's so crap about hammer down time in Britain in most places, most of the time. Even amidst the heather of the glen, sheer distance is against you. I suppose it's just more grist to the mill for those who would propose Elise against supercar but I just find it all monumentally depressing.
If you ain't a Piston Head, you might as well be dead.
Your fellow routieres are but 911s to Derek's sublime 956 as you thump one gallic wheezer after another - and they really don't mind!
Imagine the sheer paradise of caning a 456GT along such roads, the wife asleep and McTweeny II slumbering aussi! Oh joy!
But anything hairy chested and rorty would suffice; these are the roads to die for and the maintenance of cannonballing momentum something to savour like the finest Indian spice.
Yessiree, the unabashed orgy of velocity, unhindered by a society's guilt ridden frown of artificial disapproval; that simple indulgence that only a speedo's needle heading south east can satisfy...
I do a quick land speed job in Blighty and the tossers want me shackled; I trip the light fantastic 'la bas' and I can bask in the warm radiation of an occasional smirk of admiration.
That's the difference, in the main and that's what's so crap about hammer down time in Britain in most places, most of the time. Even amidst the heather of the glen, sheer distance is against you. I suppose it's just more grist to the mill for those who would propose Elise against supercar but I just find it all monumentally depressing.
If you ain't a Piston Head, you might as well be dead.
quote:
....[snip]
Suffice to say, the first leg of this mini-tour was sheer agony. Brake, accelerate, accelerate some more, no, brake, hard, slow, stop, crawl, stop, services for an hour to let the congestion ease, more crawling, avoid mid lane hanger-induced collision, wonder why Vectra boy doesn't just move the
[snip/]...
Perhaps not the correct route from the north to Portsmouth or just the wrong time of day ? I usually take the A3 (pi$$ poor to Guildford) then A31 (better), A32 (Whee), then the M27 to Portsmouth (Poor - and OK I go left to get back to Poole, rether than right). I find the M3 is crap for most of the way but there are ways of making progress on the A roads ('cos all the numpties are on the motorways)
As I said though - perhaps just the time of day.
Better journey next time (if there is a next time !)
Bob
Edited to add the missing letters as my fingers don't work as fast as I think - And I am a two fingered typist !
>> Edited by bob the planner on Monday 23 September 20:08
quote:
but Mikey.. you keep on at my southern enclave, yet Cambs is the furthest north you've lived? I've lived oop north for most of my life and it's total twaddle to say that roads up there are any better than in Hants/Wilts....
OK, OK. When I said ooop north I mean ooop north in the middle of nowhere like me ...
where you're surrounded by f*** all for miles – got Leicester one way, Norwich the other and nowt in-between ... except (and I'll concede it) ... the AWFUL A47. quote:
and pray tell, what is the point? They're pretty straight you know. Adn if you want to make haste – you should have left earlier!
I'm gonna slap you at BTaP for that comment
Apologies, that WAS a wind-up
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