It took me four hours to drive home from work the other night. Four hours. Something had to be done."Hi, you're through to Salisbury's Spire FM."
"Yeah, just an update on your traffic news."
"Go on..."
"The hour-long queue by Porton Down you've been reporting - it's been caused by some plank who's coned off a lane for no reason at all, set up the temporary lights so they only stay green for six seconds every five minutes and cleared off home for the weekend. It's every man for himself out here."
"Right...sounds bad. Is there anything anybody can do?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact - you could make an on-air appeal to get the man in charge to come back and sort it out, pronto."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Then we can tie him to a tree, smear him in jam and leave him for the ants."
"...!"
"Or, we can follow him home, wait until he's asleep, then swap his shoes for an identical pair two sizes too small."
"Muh..."
"Or, we can follow him home, befriend him, cook him his favourite meal and put ground-up toe-nail clippings in the salt cellar. Or..."
*click*
What? What did I say?
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