taking fire

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…me, de-gored at St John’s.

So last Thursday I got MASHED by a LORRY.

I was driving home from late shift – 9.30pm, dark and wet. There were new roadworks at the sliproad onto the M8. This means you had to pull up sharply, stop, and wait for a gap in the single-lane traffic.

So as I pulled up and looked right at the oncoming traffic, a WOMAN in a RED FIAT panicked at the sight of my car and BRAKED HEAVILY. I have a clear memory of her DASHBOARD-GLOWED PUSS as she slowed in front of me. Then several things happened very quickly:

1. my brain’s SLOW MOTION facility kicked in.

2. I thought, that was close.

3. the Weakerthans on my earphones drowned out the sickening RRRRRRRRRRRR noise of the LORRY now SKIDDING immediately behind the RED FIAT.

4. I looked round in time for a SINGLE FRAME of the lorry’s GRILLE before it PLOUGHED THROUGH the back of my car and a LEAD-BRICK WALL hit me SQUARE in the COUPON.

The quiet moments after the impact – once the spinning stops – are exquisite.

Your brain is tuned up to some ultra-high frequency where sounds are filtered into a flat peace and your body feels distant. Then you realise (a) that your face is generously and disturbingly wet and (b) that you will soon be hit by another vehicle. At this point you quite fancy getting off the motorway.

With the door jammed shut, I amusingly waited for the slow electric window to wiiiiind down before clambering out a la Dukes of Hazzard. Claret spilling in volume from my nose and mouth did a good zebra job on the white paintwork. From there it was off for a nice sit down in the roadworks’ lorry and a bit of first aid.

Then the boring bits of police (unsympathetic), breathalyser (green), paramedics (nice), hospital (tedious), etc. I was touched that the Casualty waiting room had Extreme Cosmetic Surgery Live on the telly, that certainly helped fight off the nausea.

Result: I’m very lucky indeed, escaping with minor cuts and a slightly knackered septum, where generally a fully-loaded lorry leaves behind only a brownish stain. The Cavalier is officially a write-off and will never be seen again.

In the end I probably asked for it. The day at work had been spent figuring out how best to dispose of the car (with the new one on the way). The consensus was to scrap it.
Unfortunately Hermes clearly heard and decided to answer my prayers literally, as these Olympians are wont to do for giggles.

Finally, the award for funniest post-accident text goes to Dave, for the sublime:
“Aye, car crashes aren’t nearly as much fun as that cunt Ballard makes out”.