​When it’s my turn to take the kids to school, I know that there is a risk that my onward journey to work will be compromised (i.e. I’ll be late) if there are any significant hold ups. Normally it works out okay and I get to the office on time.

Today though, I heard the travel news en route to school so knew that, following an accident between 12 and 13 (that had taken out two lanes and caused tail backs beyond 14) and a separate smaller accident between 15a and 15, the M1 was problematic.

So to avoid the congestion, I decided to try another route. I subsequently drove through Northampton town centre (blimey was that was painfully slow in places) then towards Wootton and onwards on the B526 in the direction of Newport Pagnell. I successfully navigated my way through Hackleton and Horton. Things were looking good, I was going to make it on time…

…but just before Stoke Goldington (only ten minutes at most from office) the B526 was closed.

Aaaaarrrrrrgggghhhhh!

The subsequent detour through Hanslope cost me more than 45 minutes, 35 of them in nose to tail traffic for four miles (along the Wootton and Forest Roads).

At points I was hammering the steering wheel in frustration and shouting myself hoarse. For any of those able to observe me, I would have looked/sounded like a complete cock (not that I cared). The kind of expletive fuelled, Clarksonesque rage I was experiencing, impotent (because you can’t do a damn thing about a traffic jam) though it was, would have made me dangerous if it could have been put to better use. Honestly, I was so cross/stressed I gave myself a headache; probably shortened my life expectancy in one journey to work.

And in the meantime, the M1 cleared - fucking typical! I found this out first by sitting stationary on a bridge where I could see the traffic flowing freely below me and then from the cheerful announcement on the next traffic update. I’d have been better served by getting on the M1 and sitting out the delays.

I only managed to calm myself down a little by thinking how I’d write about my experiences. Anger, irony, black comedy - loads of potential for a post. From adversity comes creativity!

​Needless to say, I was late for work, an arrival time of 9:35 instead of 8:45. Bearing in mind I left the house at 7:35am, and only live 29 miles away from the office, that’s a two hour stint for a run that would normally take me about 40-45 minutes.

Though I arrived at work as tense as a bow string, when I admitted my tardiness to the boss, she was easy going. Her view don’t get stressed about something you can’t control. A point was well made and fair and tonight, as I reflect/write, I’ll try and bear it in mind when I am next in the situation.

It better not be tomorrow though.

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I paused for two minutes of contemplative silence at 11:00am this morning, because remembering the sacrifice that so many made to cement the world we have today is important to me. Earlier this year I wandered around the allied war cemetery at Reichswald in Germany; this morning I thought about the Baldwins and the thousands of others buried within its boundaries. 

On Remembrance Day I often find myself wondering how on earth I would have coped with being a soldier, getting shot at and fearing for my life. Occasionally I have this romantic kind of notion that I’d have been mentally strong and courageous under fire, but more often I just think that I’d have been a crap soldier and scared to death.

It’s a God send that I have never been tested in such dangerous circumstances, because if I was overwhelmed by it all, I am not sure what it would do to my sense of self. Now that I am getting on a bit (and in the demographic for “Dad’s Army”), the likelihood of ever finding out if I’d be a man or mouse under enemy fire, is slimmer than my waistline (which is not as slim as it used to be, so maybe that’s not quite the right choice of analogy).

The lack of reference points for war brings me on to some other stuff that I have had no exposure to either – mercifully.

Last night’s TV viewing is the source of the next elements of introspection.

First up, “Cutting Edge - Secret Life of Prisons” aired on Channel 4. In this documentary, featuring much content extracted from smuggled in/out mobile phones, viewers were presented with scenes of mindless violence, drug abuse, illness, repeat offence, despair and death. It was a difficult film to watch. For me, I might as well have been following a wildlife documentary about crocodiles, so little could I identify with the convicts…

…they might as well have been reptiles.  I have no idea how I’d cope with being banged up with the predatory, sociopathic, moronic creatures. The prospect of armed conflict would be more appealing.

Moving on to “DIY SOS The Big Build”, shown on BBC1. I am a fan of this show, I have written about it before and believe that there is no better way the BBC spends my licence fee.

​Nick Knowles and his crew were behind the removal of a gold-medal-winning, Chelsea Flower Show garden and its subsequent installation on the roof of London’s Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital. During the build, viewers got to meet a number of the children being cared for and their families.

Whilst I have done my fair share of gardening, I haven’t had to cope with either of my children needing the kinds of terminal illness, or chronic conditions, care that Great Ormond Street is renowned for. And like coping under fire, I have no idea how I’d handle the relentless pressure of my children being critically ill/dying. The consensus amongst the affected parents seemed to be “you get on with it because you have no choice” and “you get used to it”. I suspect soldiers have similar outlooks.

But whilst the The Big Build was engaging, upsetting and inspiring all at the same time, the overall sense was of positivity in the face of real adversity, which certainly couldn’t be said for the Secret Life of Prisons.

In a day of remembrance, I am also reminded to think how lucky I am, and to be relieved that life’s twists and turns have not ended up in certain places that I don’t know if I am equipped to manage.

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It’s been five years since my website was first published and I don’t want this milestone to pass without comment. Back in November 2011, I didn’t have a five year mission in mind, but now that the landmark has been reached, to borrow an expression from Moneysupermarket, I am feeling epic.

Alright maybe that’s overcooking it a bit (well a lot then), but I do have this sense of satisfaction that I have kept the momentum going. Five years is a reasonable commitment.

In November 2015, I wrote about my site reaching its fourth birthday…

 http://www.adrianbaldwin.net/blog/adrianbaldwinnet-is-four

…my feelings 12 months later are much the same and there’s no point in being repetitive.

I also wrote a piece when the site turned three.

http://www.adrianbaldwin.net/blog/its-my-party-and-ill-cry-if-i-want-to

So having another anniversary has been challenging in terms of discovering/revealing new journalistic angles. Maybe there’s no need to, it’s probably only me that even cares about the elapsed time.

A few weeks ago I celebrated (more overcooking…the event passed without comment…well until now anyway) a work related landmark - two years back in the fleet/finance industry. Given that I have a presence on LinkedIn, the site automatically posted (no effort at all required from me) an anniversary update. 18 people “liked” it and seven people actually wrote to me. I mention this because I hope that five years of adrianbaldwin.co.uk/.com/.uk/.net (which involves a lot of effort) gets a similar response, ideally a better one. I’ll be honest though, I have my doubts.

But being positive in terms of achievements (since 03/11/15) - 59 new posts, 24,881 additional unique visitors and 137,948 page views. All feels okay to me!

Fame has yet to materialise, costs have yet to be covered, but some cool stuff has happened in terms of engagement with readers (and various bands for that matter) – certainly enough encouragement for me to blog into year six with a continued sense of purpose.

And that’s about that. Well aside from this:

Thank you dear readers for coming/returning. Feel free to recommend my site to your pals. And if you’re thinking about leaving a congratulatory sort of message, don’t be bashful.           

Love and kisses,

Ade xx

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It’s a good thing that I am not a betting man because this year has proved that my prediction skills need some significant work before I should part with my cash.

​This post, created in response to Trump winning the American presidency, reflects on a series of personal miss-calls in 2016.

Though I was worried about the potential, I didn’t think that Trump would win – to me, he is a buffoon to rival Boris Johnson, albeit that he’s not as likeable (in fact, he’s not likeable at all). I couldn’t believe that the US public would vote him in bearing in mind his lack of judgement, inadequate experience, his maverick approach and all that on top of the catalogue of crass things that he said during the campaigning period.

I thought Brexit was a pipe dream and that the British public wouldn’t take the risk with our economy and international standing.

I was sure Lewis Hamilton would win the F1 drivers’ championship again. But Nico Rosberg is firmly in control and looks likely to win (though, like a child with a favoured cuddly toy, I still clutch tightly to hope for Lewis).

2016 also saw Trident renewal get signed off, the Hinkley Point C nuclear reactor approved, Chris Evans stand down from Top Gear and Jeremy Corbyn survive a Labour leadership contest (and actually come back stronger). My hopes/expectations of alternative outcomes…dashed!

​Oh and I am moving house – I certainly wouldn’t have bet on that at the beginning of the year. 

All in all, I am feeling somewhat bemused and rather out of touch. Is it an age thing, am I losing my grip?

In the office today, one of my colleagues said to me that “if I had put a £1 accumulator bet on Leicester winning the Premier League, Brexit happening and Trump becoming president, I’d be £12million richer”. My response was that at least I saved a £1 – because my predictions would have lost me my stake.

When it comes to gambling, I’ll be more likely to win by making my decision and then actually betting on the opposite outcome.

So with this reverse logic in mind – given that I think that Ore Oduba has a good chance of winning Strictly Come Dancing, I’d better get myself down to William Hill’s place and stake a tenner on Ed Balls.

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I read this article on the BBC today... 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-37888207

...and thought I’d share my views on smart motorways and the speeding fine income that has been generated as a result of their introduction.
​
What a surprise, variable speed limits and associated speed cameras have turned into a money spinner! Who would have seen that coming?

Obviously I am being facetious, we all know that the generation of fine income was as important in the introduction of smart motorways as any efforts to regulate traffic flow.

Personally I think that variable limits are massively frustrating, I prefer average speed cameras (though it pains me to admit it). Average speed cameras work and slow the traffic to the posted speeds. Variable speed limits concertina traffic between gantries as drivers speed up and slow down and, in my experience, make the motorways feel less safe.

On numerous occasions I have experienced annoyance when the posted speed limits go up and down like a yoyo and it genuinely feels like someone (in charge of some software somewhere) has a penalties target to meet.

Most commonly, the M1 is the source of my angst, it has large swathes of variable limits between 13 and seven going south (from Daventry) and from Leicester to Leeds going north.

• I have experienced reduced speed limits when there is little traffic to speak of (like someone forgot to turn the variable limit signs off).
• I have observed posted limits that go from 60 to 40 and back up to 60 within three gantries (and not even near a junction). In these instances, I have found myself breaking fairly hard to lose the 20 miles per hour (mph) whilst glancing in my rear view mirror for a potential rear end shunt. I have been overtaken by articulated trucks that just ignore the posted limit change.
• I have been within 50 metres of a gantry when its posted speed limit has dropped and I have only had a split second to decide what to do about it.
• I have been sat in standstill traffic whilst the variable limit posted is 60mph. 
• In roadworks, it is typical to see the traffic slowed long in advance of the roadwork area. Late at night on the M1 around St. Albans/Hemel Hempstead I have found limits posted as low as 40mph. The road is quiet, the traffic is light and yet for miles in advance of the bridge repair or lane closure, you have to coast along or risk a fine.
• I have read that in Bedfordshire, camera over-speed tolerances are set really low because more people will get fined as a result. There might be some truth in that too, M1 Jncts. 13-10 have the highest volume of fines in the UK.

You might be thinking that I am frustrated because I have been caught/fined but you’d be wrong. In more than 25 years of driving I have yet to acquire a single point on my licence. But acquiring them has got to the point of being inevitable because the cameras are everywhere and motorists are an easy target.

Getting caught out is not linked to driving safely at all anymore. You can leave plenty of distance between you and the vehicle in front and you can be moving at the speed of rest of the traffic but, if you don’t break needlessly for a variable limit, you risk being penalised. And once condemned, there is no argument because safety is irrelevant, it’s all about the limit (and the money).

​The simplest thing of course is never to speed anywhere but that doesn’t necessarily aid motorway safety either. I have seen some appalling driving behaviours (tailgating, light flashing, undertaking) from drivers that get stuck behind others on the motorways that resolutely stick to 70 mph and then won’t budge from the middle or fast lanes.

Central government’s coffers have benefitted to the tune of £1.1 million so far in fine income and the smart money has to be on that sum getting higher and higher in the future (at least to the point that too many drivers lose their licence altogether or we all have vehicles that drive themselves).

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I have just become aware that the famous painting with the name of the post is going to be sold by auction in December.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-edinburgh-east-fife-37847020

The Monarch of the Glen by Sir Edwin Landseer (1851) is a painting that I love, it reminds me of my youth and I will forever associate it with drinking at the Red Hart pub in Bucklersbury, Hitchin.

And in a surprise twist, it turns out that my association of the Monarch and booze is not altogether inappropriate bearing in mind that its current owner is Diageo – none other than the custodians of one of my favourite pints, “Guinness”.

Believe me, a considerable quantity of Diageo’s premier stout was consumed in the Red Hart, which had a large framed print of the Monarch on the wall.

I have written about the pub before…

http://www.adrianbaldwin.net/blog/the-red-hart-jigsaw-inspired-nostalgia-and-666-words

So there is no need to repeat the previously stated nostalgic reflections.

The painting, being sold by Christie's, London is expected to fetch more than £10 million. That’s a staggering amount of money (do you like the pun by the way? Couldn’t help myself). Whilst I’d like to own the original, hang it on my wall and get all my old drinking buddies together to appreciate it…

…the price tag got me to thinking about how on earth that would be possible.

If I, and all those named in my earlier post (Mike Costantini, Chris Williams, Richard Davies, Derek Fisher, Vince Coppard, Tracy Westgate, Susan How, Jackie & Sally and my sister Tina) liquidated every asset we own between us (acquired over at least 27 years of ongoing investment), the collective amount raised wouldn’t get anywhere near the expected sale price.

Even if it was possible to recover the amount spent on every single drink downed between us during those halcyon years at the Hart (not an insignificant sum), the funds would still be woefully short.

Very deep pockets are necessary to own the Monarch. The fear expressed by some is that those deep pockets will be foreign and that the painting will leave its long term home in Scotland.

That would be a shame.

Hopefully the National Museum of Scotland will be able to bid and retain the artwork. If it does, I am going to go to the Scottish galleries and view it for myself.

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