“It has been given a new title, shared by every weary traveller who has driven along it and survived – The Road To Hell”
The M25 is an enormous motorway that encircles London. But for the most part, it is England’s largest car park. It is one of the most congested motorways in the UK. Deep down, it is a victim of its own success in the sense that it is used SO much that it comes to a grinding halt continuously. It has been widened numerous times, and millions of pounds have been spent on it, yet it never seems to improve. Because of this, it has been given a new title, shared by every weary traveller who has driven along it and survived – The Road To Hell. Even Chris Rea hated it, so he dedicated a song to it!
When I returned from Toulouse, I travelled from Horsham to Heathrow every day from October 1990 to December 2004. So 14 years. Let me be the first to say that 14 years of the M25 is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The very first week of driving on the M25, I learnt a fundamental lesson: there is no point in going into the fast lane between junctions 9 and 14. I learned this on Day 2. On my journey up, I passed a truck and weaved between the lanes to try advancing my position. I did this all the way to Heathrow, and as I left the M25, I saw the same truck still way ahead of me, on the inside lane. All he had done was stay put the whole way up. This was a marathon, not a race, one with no victor, other than the cursed road itself. Day 3, I stayed on the inside lane the whole way up, far less stressful and far more efficient. I continued to do this for the next 13 years and 362 days!
During this time, there were many interesting events that I witnessed. On one occasion, at junction 10, which is the Guildford tunnel, we came to a complete and utter standstill, a common occurrence on the road to Hell. The car in front of me was a beat-up red Toyota with just the driver in the car. He was wearing a rastacap in Jamaican colours, with a few stray dreadlocks peeking out from the canopy. His window was fully down, and he was smoking the longest “cigarette” I have ever seen. Everyone around him was clearly agitated and frustrated by the traffic, honking horns, shaking fists and craning necks out the window to see what the hold up was. My man in the Toyota was smoking away, nodding his head to an unheard rhythm. A stone of calm in a clogged river of chaos. Whoever sold him that cigarette was sorely needed with a basket and cashbox at junction 10, they would have cleaned up! The traffic eventually began to move, whatever clog had finally been unblocked. My rastafarian friend went on his merry way at the next junction, still smoking and still smiling. Peace be the journey!
In stark contrast to this, returning home one evening, we reached Junction 11, and on the slip road next to us, a van and a car were neck and neck fighting for the position where the slip road merges. The van driver clearly had something to prove and was determined to win this pointless ‘race’. His window was rolled down, and in his right hand was an iron bar with which he was smashing the roof of the car next to him. Needless to say, the van won the contest, and I was delighted to see it speed off well away from us!
On the M25, if you are between junctions, you are completely stuck until you get to the next one. This happened to us on one occasion, when we were stuck for three hours. Completely at the mercy of the road and without a mobile phone at this time, I was unable to contact my family and tell them of my trivial yet irritating delay. When I eventually got home, my family were very upset because they had no idea where I had been and if something bad had happened. So, the following day, I bought my first Motorola mobile phone. It was enormous! And I have had one ever since.
For the last 8 years of my 14-year sentence, I shared the road to Hell with fantastic company. Mr Black and Mr White, two of my good friends from BA. We all lived roughly 20 minutes from each other in neighbouring villages, so we decided to carpool. This really helped us endure the Herculean trials that the road to the inferno often belched at us. And very importantly, it meant that the most tired of us could catch some sleep whilst the other two took positions of pilot and co-pilot. It was a clear example that a problem shared is a problem halved.
The daily journeys to and from Heathrow were exhausting, as anyone who has to drive along it can attest. But it taught me a lot about myself and others. Often, a problem or situation can arise that you have absolutely no control over, you have to sit, grin and bear it and wait for it to pass. After many years of dealing with such situations, it taught me two things: one, an enormous amount of unshakeable patience (something I have tried to impart upon my son for many years), and two, it is how you handle a situation, regardless of planned or sudden, that really defines you. Both of these have served me well in my long career in the aviation industry. So, the M25 has a few good points! If you wish to book our services, or would like a guided tour of the M25 in its demonic entirety, then please get in touch via our contact page.
