"What? Nurgh… I wasasleep"
"Are you awake?"
"Mum… m… um… What t…ime is it…?"
"Half seven in the morning, I'm off to work soon but there's a few things you must remember."
"Ok, now put the clothes in washing machine in the tumble dryer in the garage…"
"There's a pork chop in the fridge for your lunch…"
"I've left you the car keys so you can drive to work, but remember it'll be cold and foggy tonight so be careful on the roads…"
"Fold and coggy… gotch…a…"
"And if anyone calls take a message. Ok, love I'll see you later."
On reflection I probably should have listened to the above conversation but I have yet to shake the student lifestyle which renders call pre-9am conversation as pointless (moreso post Score when myself and Housemate:Els have such gret conversations as "Morninnninin" "Wha…?" "Nurgh"). Mum and the two male units in my family are gone, dusted and out of the door by 8am. I'm ususally still investigating the inside of my eyelids.
So anyway, after last night, when in a sickening display of withdrawal symptoms I dreamt about being at Score (God help me) I woke up with some vague mixed messages (there was pork chop in the garage?) and remembered that I had to drive to work. This wasn't too hard despite Cheshire County Council having spunked most of the budget for the next 87 bazillion years on an unnecessarily complicated set of traffic lights on the two round-a-bouts next to where I work, the Royal Mail sorting centre. Now I've signed the Official Secrets Act so I can't tell you all the exciting adventures and scrapes we get into at RM. I also can't tell you because bugger all ever happens except lots of letters appear and we sort them. Rock and indeed Roll.
But it was the return journey that was much more fun. Now mum had been wrong about putting the tumble dryer in the fridge for lunch but she was right about the weather. It was so fold and coggy, I mean cold and foggy, it was absurd. I spent ages trying to persuade the ice to get off the windows of the car (xmas present for mum idea no.1: an ice scraper) and when I eventually managed it through a combination of air-con and pleading, I set off over the two expensive, Blackpool Illumination style, round-a-bouts and straight into… the dark.
The fog was so thick I could barely see 10 metres in front of me. I'm not joking, there were bridges over the road which only became visible at the last possible moment. It was scary and I know these roads, I've been up and down them a fair few times over the last 15 years. But In the dark nothing could be seen and in the lit up areas, by round-a-abouts and petrol stations, it was even worse as the fog took the orange light and turned it into something utterly impenetrable. At least in the dark you could make out headlights and road signs, in the orange you could see nothing except the orange and the car in front… thank god for the car in front.
I got into a convoy of three cars, me at the back. I followed them even though I didn't know where they were going. It didn't matter, one of them must have been going somewhere near where I live and all that mattered was that I wasn't the one in front. I folllowed them even when it occurred to me that I may have missed my turning, when I eanrly went onto the M6 instead of the backroad which I know is 10 seconds further down the road from the M6 turning. I followed the car in front (was it a Rover? A mini perhaps?) when it turned suddenly down what turned out to be the backroad I wanted. I consider it great luck that this car went right into my hometown. It was a Vauxhall Astra. You'd never have known in the fog.
Tonight it's still circling around the house. I'm gonna dream about fog in SCore now, I just know I am…