THE RIBBON ROAD

RIBBON ROAD

So long to the ribbon road, which connects me to forty years of travelling like a top, spinning effortless from A road to B road and back again, and I can’t think of a journey but your last journey, and I wasn’t even there…

So much the for the fools errand of driving break neck across the country from Inverness to Penzance, just because the booking clerks thought it was funny to send me from one end of the island to the other.

So long to the phone calls at 8 in the evening telling me I had to be in Oban by 10 am and then do a twelve hour shift. A ten hour drive into the back of beyond, losing 40 years in that journey heading back from 2002 to 1962… no sign of life just a remembrance of the past… A world out of step with the march of time.

Good riddance to the jouneys with unknown workmates that I wouldn’t trust with my dinner money and yet had to trust them not to drop the beam we were fitting on my head or worse.

Let’s not forget the Store Managers who were literally fucking mental… Managers that hid stock so that it wouldn’t be inventoried and then bringing them out at the last moment just as we had finished the job.

Tata to the staff who claimed they knew how to work to line drawing and then proved they patently did not, so that I had to redo all their useless efforts.

Goodbye to the fifteen years of living in the grottiest guest houses, either alone in an attic for days on end, or else the horror of sharing a room with someone you didn’t know or trust, afraid you may be murdered in your bed because you had given them a task they didn’t like.

Yes the open road is such a thrill to drive dog-tired for 300 miles after a twelve hour shift. Slapping your own face just to stop the urge to fall asleep as your passing a Stobbard lorry, or worse a Polish driver who thinks its ok to pull into your lane as you are driving passed him.

Farewell the hours sat in the middle of nowhere, inching forward on the motorway whilst listening to travel news telling you there is a tale-back of eight miles, and you are going nowhere fast.

Left with thanks the decades of my childrens lives that I missed, the school plays, the football games I missed…

People think that there is a majesty in travelling endlessly up and down the highways and bye-ways of this sceptic isle. The space in my head where the maps of every town, city and village and every intersection of the motorways of our blessed homeland occupies, could be filled with something more useful, just say for example, a method of earning a living which didn’t require me to travel 2000 miles a week… That would be a space I would happily occupy.

Yes, goodbye to all that. The ribbon road has been forever cut. I will stay at home, and hone the horns of my regret.

Dale M

Published by dale.beck1@hotmail.com

I am a writer of words and a righter of wrongs. I aim to change the world, one person at a time.

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