DRIVEN TO DISTRACTION

A lengthy motorway journey gives Fiona Armstrong time to muse on everything from number plates to van livery

Fiona Armstrong takes time to ponder on a long drive

Who would go away from home? Sometimes it is not worth the wear and tear on tyres – or nerves – yet off we set to Gloucestershire going, as usual, at breakneck speed. Because, where the chief is concerned, the aim of travel is to get from A to B as quickly as possible.

There are no rests for a leg stretch. No food stops. Sandwiches prepared earlier must be eaten on the move. There are no quick detours to peek at historic towns. And with no comfort breaks, legs must be firmly crossed until we reach our destination.

This is army training kicking in. But then an element of resilience is required when you drive south these days. The M6 is horrible at the best of times; going over the Thelwall Viaduct and around Birmingham, it is unspeakable – there seems to be thousands of vehicles and there are certainly hundreds of traffic cones where roadworks mean the lanes have narrowed alarmingly.

Patience is wearing thin. Horns are pumping. And now a delivery van is driving aggressively, threatening to put us into the central reservation with his forty-ton truck. I glare as we pass. I also take a note of his number in case of an accident.

We come to a halt and I am now noting other car plates. ‘Moo’ must belong to a farmer. ‘Geo’ could well be George. A personal car registration is something we have both toyed with, but usually we tell ourselves to forget it. After all, there are other, more important, things that we need. A personal plate is simply showing off.

Yet, it is a tempting thought, especially with nothing else to think about as we sit there in a long, long queue. I google a suitable website and type in the words ‘MacGregor’ and ‘Armstrong’.

The ‘Macs’ are predictably expensive, although the ‘Arms’ are not too bad. Then as I put in other permutations, something different comes up. For the Lord Lieutenant of Dumfries, could ‘1 Dum’ be a fun idea?

Certainly. But swanning round with that on the front of your car might just be seen as a little pretentious in these parts. And then there is the small matter of the price. This plate is a snip at twenty thousand pounds, which is twice as much as my poor old car is worth.

We edge forward and a snail’s pace gives time to examine other vehicles close up. Next to us a van has the words ‘coffee solutions’ plastered all over it. Are there coffee problems? Not with me. I don’t drink the stuff…

Eventually we escape the motorway and drive into another world, one of pretty blonde-stoned villages with quaint names like Peopleton, Pinvin and Wyre Piddle.

We are here because the chief is exhibiting photographs of Namibia and Scotland in a local gallery. But before that he is very kindly treating me to a night in a luxury hotel. It is near Tewkesbury, a charming medieval town with 300 historic buildings and dozens of wynds and ginnels.

The cathedral is stunning and the hotel is well appointed, but with a wedding to cope with, it is a bit Basil Fawlty on the service side. The chief gets his whisky served in a beer glass. His red wine arrives after he has almost finished his braised venison.

I twice go and look for a waiter to clear our plates. Life is hard. But the staff are friendly and apologetic. And, importantly, the exhibition is a success.

I get home still musing on car number plates. Then realise there are probably other, more important things to think of, like my next luxury hotel…

“

Eventually we escape the motorway and drive into another world of pretty villages