Hay, Burning Tyres and me.

Well hello.....

Hm! It has been one of those days.

You know – you don’t sleep too well, you wake up early and it isn’t even Christmas.

Not even your birthday.

You feed the cats; you set off to work in the dark.

And it’s raining.

You get half way along the motorway- you know, that section where there are no exits for miles and miles, and the traffic comes to a halt.

You wait.

Nothing happens.

A half hour goes past.

Forty minutes.

You ring the office and tell them you won’t be there in time for the meeting; it’s better to cancel.

You move forward the width of a bumper, and another half hour goes past.

You see a pile of earth blocking the exit and a phalanx of cop cars.

Then black smoke.

Then a sign telling you, that even if you were moving, the motorway is closed.

One of those days.

Tractors.

Angry farmers.

A blockade.

They must have got up really early.

Piles of hay that they have set light to.

Smoke, flames, burning tyres, people walking along an empty motorway under umbrellas and a line of red tail lights from a thousand cars snaking across the hillsides, interrupted only by the impotent flashing blue lights of the police.

The only person happy is the journalist who – covered by plastic – is filming.

She must have some great shots.

My pissed-off face for one.

  formerly published in The Archives.