The Perfect Road Home

Yesterday after work I left Robertsbridge like I usually do, pulling up to the junction into the A21. And there was nary a vehicle in sight. I was able to pull onto the A-road without pausing or putting my foot down. A rare occurrence. I moved off up the road to the long uphill corner, expecting to see a queue of traffic at the incline's summit. But there was no queue. In fact I must have travelled almost five miles before I saw another vehicle on my side of the road. Even the cars coming the other way were few and far between.

It was like there was something going on that everyone else knew about. Like a party I wasn't invited to. I kept conjuring up visions in my head of black smoke billowing up from Hastings' outline... but no such drama took place. I suppose I just got lucky. It was surreal though.

And now, as filler for an otherwise empty blog entry:

There's something I do habitually at work. There are skylights in the main corridor outside my office. This is, of course, the corridor I traipse most often. The skylights aren't so much windows as very thin pieces of wall. Like the windows made of horn or what have you that were used in the dark ages. But there is one, just one, outside the staff room door that is clear. It doesn't matter what the weather is like - I always find myself staring upwards when I walk under that skylight.

Now I have a secret mission to do so I'd better get back to it. Something to do with tracing an IP address.