What have they done with the potholes?
RARELY does this column bring you a genuine scoop but I have news that will astonish the motorists among you. Someone has stolen the ruts and holes that for months had adorned a stretch of carriageway at a location which, for now, must remain secret. What they did with them, where they put them, is a complete mystery to me.
Pity I never took a picture to help with future identification. All I know is that in their place is a large expanse of something black and smooth. This substance allows the wheels of motor vehicles to proceed without bumps or swerves, thereby depriving the motorist of the joy of paying for new tyres.
I drove over the area several times, just to make sure I was not imagining things. I even parked up to secure photographic evidence and got on my hands and knees to inspect what I believe is called asphalt in near-virgin state.
The entire surface is dotted with tiny perforations but nothing like the monsters of old. It stretches for 30 yards or so on all four sides of a miniisland, which now gleams rudely beneath pristine white paint.
Further inspection revealed white markings, apparently indicating the approach to said mini-island, and broken lines as if to tell drivers “stop here”. Beside the kerb on each approach are double lines painted in the brightest yellow – a throwback, I believe to days of yore, when parking in such areas might invoke th e production of a parking ticket from someone in a peaked cap and hi-vis jacket.
I’m not the most practical of people, so the means employed to bring about such a transformation are beyond me, but I did wonder if the presence of a steamroller parked nearby was involved in some way.
I just had to ask local residents what they thought. “About time!” was the common response but one man observed: “It’s gonna cause accidents, innit? I mean, people get used to paying more attention to the road surface than the traffic. Now they’ll think they can speed across the island without looking. Just like taxi drivers.”
A friend with an engineering background suggested that the modern marvel I had witnessed was an ancient practice known as “road resurfacing”. Being unfamiliar with the term, I asked how he could explain the disappearance of the holes and ruts. He looked at me as if I were an idiot.
He even suggested that The Council might be responsible but a spokesman declined to discuss the matter with me, beyond urging me not to reveal the precise location for fear of triggering demands for similar action at other sites.
A Government source told me: “It’s easy to forget some of the good work we’ve done. We’ve spent years quietly amassing more than a million potholes nationwide and we’re never going to win the world title if this sort of behaviour catches on.”
All I know is that in their place is a large expanse of something black and smooth.