Scotland chose to welcome me with sleet and snow.
The highways were liberally doused with salt, which in turn created a grimy film all over the car.
Long distance driving with poor visibility is ill advised, so at Carlisle I was on the look out for a bunch of eager East Europeans.
Preferably ones with a jet wash to hand.
I couldn’t find any, so for the first time in my life I found myself at the mercy of an IMO automated car wash.
It was quite an unnerving experience, although my anxiety was ameliorated by an enthusiastic Asian who instructed me on all the relevant procedures.
Handbrake off, do not attempt to steer, leave the gearbox in neutral.
Back in the seventies I would regularly take my Mum’s car to a Murco garage automatic car wash. Week by week it would kindly relieve my charge of extraneous oddments.
Mirrors, wipers, and trim would frequently go awol. If hadn’t been a company car it could have been quite a nuisance.
All of which explains my reluctance to hook my offside wheels into a glorified conveyor belt. This in turn dragged my car along a 20 metre track, whilst removing that filthy film.
As I consider that short passage it occurs to me that all too many of us are being carried along on a course, not of our making.
Perhaps it’s time to slip away from life’s conveyor belt, and steer one’s own course?
If only this was as easy as selecting “D” for drive, and taking hold of a leather steering wheel.