Friday morning eight a.m. and I'm on the phone to an American in a car. The roads around me don't look so bad, but I know I'm in a bubble.
He's on a handsfree and we're talking about some deal or other. Then I hear a woman's voice. Something about turn left. He mutters "I've never been to Cambridge before" and then "that was the turning, I've just missed it."
Great city, Cambridge.
I muse on the times I've spent there and the right way to stand on a punt.
Three more calls and then I'm on the road. My own sat-nav tells me a different way to somewhere I've visited before. A few red Xs on the map tell me there's a block on the usual route.
So then it's my turn to miss the junction. A right at a roundabout and then onto an elevated section. Except I should have gone hard left after the junction.
I pay the ten minute penalty as I follow an escape-free dual carriageway bypassing Windsor to the M4, where I traverse about four sets of lights while I think about no direction and rolling stones.
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