Travails in Essex – Part 1

I should be unpacking the car, doing laundry, putting things away and generally doing all the things necessary to get back to normality after a weekend away trading. (Think – camping holiday with odd clothes, accounts, stock takes and a stupidly large, heavy tent). Instead, I thought I might share some of the weekend’s events with you over a second cup of coffee (unusual for me as I rarely drink coffee at all, let alone two cups). Copious quantities of coffee, however, are absolutely essential to prop open my exceedingly weary eyelids this morning, but you’ll have to wait until a subsequent post to find out why. I will just say that this was going to be entitled “Having a Hestia Time”, which should give you an inkling if you are familiar with Hestia’s trials and tribulations. If you haven’t read her blog, you really should.

So, pressing on, I will leave out all the boring bits about how we managed to get packed and on the road nice and early, how the traffic was fine and the weather glorious, how we trundled sedately around various motorways at an unhurried 50mph, towing a heavily laden trailer and listening to my newly fitted early birthday present*. No, I will skip over the many pleasant and sunny counties we traversed in harmony and peace until we reached *Essex* and the A12!

(*shiny new car audio with all the usual bits plus iPod control and DAB radio, fitted by yours truly on Thursday evening ready for the journey – DAB aerial to follow when I have properly researched the best type.)

The A12 is a bleak road with a bad reputation. It is a fast dual carriageway with a dubious surface and nothing much to look at in the flat landscape, but the sun was shining and with our goal (Colchester) tantilisingly close, I found myself nudging up to 60mph in an effort to get there by 1pm and have some time to look around the place. Big mistake!

The rough road surface suddenly became a good deal rougher and after peering in the wing mirror, DH  announced that all was not well in the trailer department and the tyre was looking somewhat blown. The same tyre, in fact, that had to be replaced on its last major outing to Herstmonceux last August. The dismaying prospect of a very long wait for rescue and a late arrival to the site, paled into insignificance compared with trying to pull over to the side of the road, without getting killed by the constant stream of lorries thundering past the 3ft wide strip that passes for a hard shoulder. (I’ll bet Boudicca didn’t have this kind of trouble parking her chariot near Chelmsford!)

Hastily scrambling out and dragging the children over the pile of stuff blocking the safer door, we scuttled away from the car down the narrow, scrubby verge and called the AA. (No, it didn’t drive me to instant alcoholism – the other AA, the car one!) Assured that we were a priority case due to our dangerous location, with traffic having to overtake, mostly without bothering to slow down much, we pressed ourselves into the hedgerow and attempted to stay out of the hot sun while we awaited rescue. Then the Police arrived.

Well, one copper arrived on a motorbike, which he, rather rashly in our opinion, left parked across the lane that we were partially blocking, so that traffic was forced to pull over rather sooner than “ooh- just-missed-the-trailer-that-time”.

He was a funny man, though, that copper. With a completely straight face, he suggested that I drive to the next junction so that I could get off the A12. I would be fine if he was following me, he said.It was only a mile or so, he said.

I politely declined, well, I was audibly polite at any rate, the phrasing going through my mind was rather more colourful and along the lines of “Bugger that for a game of soldiers!” but bluer.  I bit down the urge to share my thoughts on precisely what a miraculous effect I thought his presence would have on my ability to drag a heavily-laden trailer, with one completely shredded tyre half hanging off, up the road for any distance at all.

Despite my tactful reply, he was not pleased and said that either I moved it or he would. I almost tossed him the keys to see what he’d do. Temptation resisted, I suggested instead that since the traffic was now not thundering up my arse, I would be prepared to attempt to pull the trailer off the road onto what passed for a verge so that it wasn’t causing a hazard while we continued to wait for the rescue vehicle to arrive. He wasn’t too impressed with that idea, but realised that was the best he was going to get. At a snail’s pace I mounted the kerb while DH heroically tried to lift the trailer onto same, without, I should point out, any assistance from the Old Bill, who did helpfully point out that we should all stand well away from the road as he left. Presumably the usual Essex residents that he has to deal with lack any sort of basic self-preservation instinct and will encourage their children to play with the traffic.

So, left alone again and with the vehicle mostly off the road we settled down to wait. And we waited, the sun beat down, and we waited. Passing motorists peered at us as if we were circus freaks, as the sun beat down some more…(pause in writing this while I take a call from the AA to do a customer satisfaction survey!)…and the children moaned about being bored…and hot…and hungry…and obviously not there yet. The sun continued to beat down, but was starting to nudge around behind the hedge a bit providing a narrow strip of shade and we waited. The priority service finally sent us a text to say our rescuer had left and would be with us in 15 minutes, just as we were giving up hope of ever reaching any kind of oasis with shade and water, ideally away from the extremely loud roar of traffic.

We were saved!

More tomorrow….