Driving to work today, I was held up by some cows, who had escaped from an animal carrier after it crashed into the central reservation, and decided to go for a stroll down the motorway. On the way home, I tried to pinpoint the spot where it happened. After all, if something held me up for 45 minutes on a 10 minute stretch of road, there might at least be a sirloin steak left to show for it, no? So I paid attention to the verges and hard shoulders.
It's the time of year for feeling out of sorts, it seems. While I am torn between looking out and looking inwards - cross eyed soul - the road verge is showing its true colours. Too early yet for the fresh green of leaf bud, and too late for the bareness to look arty, the roadside is a camouflage splodge of khaki olive green and brown, with areas of sere black. As I passed the first, I thought there'd been a burnout - the ground, grass, trees and branches covered with black soot, to about 3 trees deep. A couple of hundred yards later, the same again; and then again and again. It seems cars burn out at regular intervals along the A46.
Or not. It's just dirt, of course. The accumulated crap thrown up from the wheels and spewed out of the exhausts of a couple of thousand cars, vans, wagons over the winter months. Thinking about it, there's less surprise in the level of filth in the dark areas - rather more surprising are the areas which have hung onto their minimal levels of green, despite the roadfilth.
I cannot work out, this week, whether I'm a green bit or a bit of burnout.
