I have spent nine hours today motorway driving. This included about an hour this morning in slow and sometimes stationary traffic. I enjoy driving, apart from the journey of my recent accident, which came up in thought on both the outward and homeward journey.

I nearly have the need and reason to explain why I have not been as proactive as I should have been. It’s not critical but a curtesy thing really. I started to play through what I was going to say and it naturally gravitated to explaining about my accident. At which time I welled up and wanted to cry. I don’t really know the chap although he has always been friendly and encouraging towards me I don’t know his politics. I don’t mean Politics I mean how he views things such as this: which is a barrier, he is a stranger really.

On the way home I had to drive under the bridge where I had my accident. This I have done for nearly every working day for six months, but the lighting conditions were near as they had been on the night AND a car driver used their breaks in the roughly the same spot as the accident. My memory flow stopped, my hearing stopped and my gaze froze: I just passed the scene in splendid silence.