Hurrying past a nasty smash involving some big old HGV’s on the M25 this morning – “Move along. Nothing to see here but blood and bones” - I was reminded of a similar smash where I used to live in Yorkshire.
Our house was accessed via a path leading from the village pub’s car-park – yeah, Utopia – a lovely inn and within walking distance. The Wagon and Horses, Langsett (sorry, can’t find a specific link).
At the back of the house, we overlooked the
man-made reservoir and beyond that, the beautiful, heather-covered Peak District.
To the front was the trans-Pennine A616, a heavily-used link between the M1 and the M6. That was where the pub sat.
A greater constrast in vista and volume would have been hard to find.
Visitors were always advised to exit the car park a bit smartish and to floor the throttle, because the 38-ton behemoths coming down the hill were invariably making up time lost on the uphill stretches.
One punter failed to observe this recommendation and caused a lorry, carrying steel tubing, to throw out the anchors. Fortunately, the tubes didn’t go all of the way through the cab but were partly prevented from doing so by the driver’s back. He was helped into the pub for a stiff coffee.
Still declining medical assistance some twenty minutes later, the traffic cop (clearly a veteran of such incidents) bet him that he couldn’t get up from his seat and walk to the bar. If he did, he could go home.
It was the longest walk I’d ever seen. The ambulance arrived within minutes.
# posted by Mr.D. @ 1:53 PM
Drinking and Driving (but clearly not simultaneously)
