Bowled Over...

...Ordinarily you will find me generally well-disposed towards the Constabulary, as - by and large - decent men and women dedicated - on the whole - to the preservation of Her Majesty's peace and the safety of her subjects.

Not, however, this morning. The post brings an unusual letter bearing one's fullest of full names. Though expected that this should turn out to be a communication from one of the very few financial institutions with whom one has, for safe keeping, entrusted the meagre Palladas family jewels, expectation has been dashed on discovering it to be rather a speeding ticket for a motoring offence issued on behalf of our local Chief Constable!

Yes, bangs to right and all that of course. But what is the A1 for on a clear day if not for some fast motoring? For though it should not be, I have to own that it is one of my few pure pleasures in life to nip along roads at speeds suited to the occasion. Call me Mr. Toad if you wish, but unlike the beast I never drive dangerously, merely fast. Arbitrary speed restrictions are of no consequence. Should the road be bad or the weather poor you will not find me racing but rather travelling steadily. When, however, conditions permit, then bowling along is quite the thing.

Or rather it was. It is not so much the penalty that irks, but the thought that for the next three years - well perhaps only some weeks - I needs must keep the pedal quite off the metal, as dear Jeremy Clarkson would say. (If, therefore, you should spot in future days a singularly cross looking cleric crawling along at 70 m.p.h. on the inside lane of a deserted motorway, then yes it will be me!)

Bowled over, I must no longer bowl but pooter along! Vengeful perhaps, but that is the Chief Constable right off my list of public officers to be included in prayers for the day!