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It was a beautiful day.

It was a beautiful morning as he got out of bed. Slipped on his slippers then dragged him self to the shower.
Ah he loves Fresh Eggs on toast in the morning, a read of the guardian just the back page mind no time for the rest of it.
He even likes the drive to work in his newish bright red Ford focus. The traffic is always a problem this time of a morning, bloody kids. They should walk to school he mutters under his breath.
At work his 1st chore was always to open the post, he loved getting the outstanding cheques; it made him smile, as he opened the shop for another successful day selling ladies underwear. It never surprises him when they were a queue to get in; after all he ran a very successful business.
After the delivery of another successful selling brand, good day to you driver he said with a wave and a smile.

He always enjoyed his lunch he nipped round the shop for a hot roll and cream bun he always sat on the same bench watching the world go by. He watched with interest as the local Police whizzed past with a van going to the local court with the latest naughty boy. He wondered if the parcel man delivered his new gas barbeque he really hoped he had because it was a sunny day and he was thinking of using it when he got home because he had guests coming round.

After another successful day he nipped to the local Sainsburys for his BBQ meat he was excited when his wife phoned him with the good news, 6 steaks some chicken maybe some sweet corn he muttered to himself, 6 bottles of new world white wine and his trolley was full, he nipped into the petrol station ..Save me going in the morning he thought to himself.

It was a beautiful day he said to his wife before kissing her on the forehead, goodnight tomorrow should be another day like today.

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Semper in excreta, nur quantitat variat.

A little story, the alternative version.


It was a horrible day


It was a horrible morning as he got out of bed. Slipped on his slippers then dragged him self to the shower, he hated cold showers but ever since the Truckers have been on strike the power cuts were getting a regular thing

Ah he loves Fresh Eggs on toast in the morning, and a read of the guardian, only problem was no one has eaten fresh food for quite a while, Newspapers stopped going to print about a week ago so if he was lucky he would see the News on the TV power permitting.

He did like the drive to work in his newish bright red Ford focus but the petrol dried out a long time since. The traffic is not a problem anymore this time of a morning or indeed anytime, we should be able to take our kids school he mutters under his breath especially when it was raining.

Anyhow I better be off he tells his now lonely wife, she didn’t get visitors anymore it was too far to walk up the hill where she lived.

At work his 1st chore was always to open the post only he hadn’t seen post for a while, he loved getting the outstanding cheques; I must get some money from somewhere he muttered to himself. As he opened the shop for another dreadful day not selling much ladies underwear, Jesus even the buses don’t run the crowds to the town anymore he thought.
It doesn’t surprises him to see the town empty other than a few council workers cleaning the glass from another broken window.
If only I saw the delivery man again he said to himself, I would say good day to you driver with a wave and a smile.

He hated his lunch “tined corned beef again he thought” He still sat on the same bench watching the world go by. He watched with interest as the local Policeman peddled past. He wished the parcel man could deliver his new gas barbeque he really hoped he could have, because it was a sunny day and he was thinking he could of used it when he got home if he could find some fresh meat.

After another painful day he nipped to the local Sainsburys to see if any new stocks had arrived alas no, if only he shouted to the empty streets. It was a long walk home but he had nothing better to do, I wonder if it was like this during the War he thought to himself.

It was another horrible day he said to his wife I wish we valued Truckers before they went on strike, paid them a decent wage, give them good working conditions after all if it wasn’t for Truckers we would live like this forever but tomorrow will be another day like today.

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Semper in excreta, nur quantitat variat.

I still don't like trucks Must be the biker in me! Quite like ladies underwear though (On ladies before you start!)

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Troll baiter extraordinaire

I have the utmost sympathy for lorry drivers, especially with regards to all the restrictions that are being placed upon them. I always find them to be some of the most courteous road users, too - although I guess they have to be when limited to 56mph.

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-mike[F]
Caught in the rush of the crowd, lost in a wall of sound..

<<although I guess they have to be when limited to 56mph.>>

Almost as limited as car drivers, who are following behind us in the massive congestion Q's.

To think, they are now considering allowing 25.25 m rigs. Just wait to you get stuck behind us when we get our hands on them.

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Steve

What's the current max length of a lorry?

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-mike[F]
Caught in the rush of the crowd, lost in a wall of sound..

Well, I suppose we could write a sorrowful lament for workers in any sector, public or private, who feels put upon and undervalued yet provide a valued service:

Farmers
Police Officers
Fire Service
Train Drivers
Postal Workers
Teachers
Medical Services

I'm sure we could compile a near endless list.
However, here's to truckers everywhere, who bring us our food and goods, risk prosecution if asylum seekers hide in their trucks, put up with cretin car drivers who cut them up and don't give them enough room. All whilst eating Yorkie bars and conversing on CB radios (or do I watch too much TV? )

You do a great job

Current standard permitted 18.75 metres

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Steve

<<All whilst eating Yorkie bars and conversing on CB radios (or do I watch too much TV? )>>


You watch too much TV.

It is mars bars

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Steve

[quote="bmwk12"]Current standard permitted 18.75 metres ( Road train)

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Steve