After the sun comes fog

In a cunning piece of planning I had a site visit to complete just a few miles from Dalesbridge and so Monday morning is a comparatively leisurely affair, affording me the opportunity to enjoy the spectacle of David and Sally attempting to work together and cook breakfast.

Sally’s blog records that the fun didn’t end there and their little whirly-gig of chaos continued down into Derbyshire and beyond. You may find the theme tune to Benny Hill starts playing in your head by the end of the tale…

In contrast I scurry off to the site and spend the morning surveying small settlements in Yorkshire. It’s a stunning morning, very cold, but bright blue skies and brilliant sunshine.



Which makes it all the more surprising when 20 minutes into my commute back to the office I hit this:



One minute sunglasses on, next minute can’t see your hand in front of your face.

And so the trauma begins.

A huge crash on the M6 means the southbound carriageway is closed around jn26, the queues that result form a ripple effect back up the motorway as crash after crash occurs as people pile into the back of the stationery traffic.

Traffic reports tell of a second full closure, so I take the advice and turn off onto the M61.

Of course the next traffic report informs me that there’s now been a major crash on the M61 and it’s closed up ahead as well.

So it’s off at the next junction and I weave my way through the byways and sideways of Lancashire, slowly, slowly southwards.

It’s so late by the time I reach Winwick, that I decide to take my bosses advice after all and turn left for home. I arrive back exhausted. A two hour journey has taken me nearly five exhausting, nail-biting hours.

What purpose does fog serve anyway?