My journey to work has become a total nightmare. It's a long commute anyway, but over the past 6 months, I've sussed a way to get on the motorway without sitting in a huge queue beforehand and I'd managed to get the morning journey down to 55 minutes on a good day.
As of last week, it's now taking me 1 hour 45 minutes. They're redoing the safety barrier in the middle of the M1, so they've closed the fast lane in and out of Leeds for a 5+ mile stretch. Including the bit where it merges with the M62 and splits off onto the A1M, which was carnage even before they took away a lane.
I'm getting palpitations just thinking about it. I close my eyes and imagine myself walking Bertie in a winter sun-lit field like the one above.
Here's another example of fatherly pride to follow on from last week's post, albeit one that might be easier for some of you to appreciate. Easier than Air Supply, I mean.
We were in the Co Op on Saturday and I had to buy some Cod Liver Oil. As I crouched to pick a box of the cheap own brand ones off the shelf, Sam started singing the name of the more expensive brand next to it. This is the song he was singing...
I'm never quite sure what this thing is that Ian McCulloch has about kissing tortoise shells...
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