Tuesday, February 11, 2020

The bridge is out

No ice on this bridge.
"The bridge is out!" they cry, great chunks of ice falling from the sky on tiny vehicles. Baffled engineers check their thermal imagery devices in their thermal underwear. It's Baltic out there. Commonly in Scotland every roadworthy detour or diversion involves going in the wrong direction for about 40 miles, I've become accustomed to that now, long lines of traffic, the blankest of stares and no lane discipline. The mornings just fly in as the traffic cones crawl by. The more things that happen the less I believe. So the bridge problems must be somebody's fault, that's how we do things in Scotland, find a scapegoat and slit it's throat and gloat. The BBC and the Glasgow Herald smell the blood, the Lib Dems Tweet their best watery pish. Hollyrood you're rumbled. We've wasted even more money it seems. We could'nae run a raffle but we can burn down Art Schools. Hang your heads, fall guys. Motorists are quick to point the finger in a pointless fashion.

Here in Scotland the weather is our master. Unpredictable weather in winter, sleet to snow to ice shall be our shame and downfall. We didn't see it coming, like that first ice bomb. Now every tall building or high structure is a suspect in the great ice bomb plot. The silent threat from above, the urban avalanche, the motorway icebergs, stealthy like flying U-Boats. Look up before you leap out. It's slippy oot there and they'll smash your windscreen. Whether you believe it or not it is happening, mostly in the common head-space to be honest. Me? I blame Westminster naturally. 

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