Home at Last


by Sean Gabb

Just back from three weeks in Slovakia. I could write an epic poem about the homeward drive through Europe – a whole book would be devoted to the increasingly sleazy aspect of the German motorway services, and the increasingly dangerous driving of people whose cars have been registered in places like Holland and Germany. However, I will merely note that, despite 24 hours without sleep, I am watching the closing “ceremony” of the Olympic Games. It’s nearly as bad as the opening. All that restrains me from calling for a military coup is the knowledge that the Army probably couldn’t win a pitched battle with the pigs – oh, and the litre bottle of 47.5 per cent gin I picked up on the cross Channel ferry….

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3 responses to “Home at Last

  1. The “drivers” on the especially German motorways were legendary even in the early 90s, when I was going a lot. If you could not do 120mph or preferably rather more than that, they would “rub” you. That meant: sitting on your tail, literally, a couple of feet back, flashing wildly.

    Sometimes you would meet them again: not often. But when you did, their car was spread in small pieces over about 400 yards of autobahn, together with the indistinguishable parts of some other or others, and you’d have gone through a 37-mile-queue to get to that place.

  2. I do not know what drives sensible German people to drive like that: the arguably most highly-educated group of individuals in the continental parts of the EUSSR, and with the most money, and thus the most to lose by dying violently. Does anybody have any opinion?

  3. Diesel is much cheaper beyond sea.