Kelly Rose Bradford: There it was, this hole in the ground...

Feb 18 2009 Surrey Herald

Oh I do love a good set of road-works. There's nothing quite like being part of that snaking line of rage-infused desperation, dragging itself snail-style towards a set of on-the-blink temporary traffic lights, before emerging the other side, all at once relieved, triumphant and fighting the temptation to turn boy racer and floor the car in second gear.

Actually, I don't. I hate roadworks. I hate traffic jams, I hate waiting, being made late, and generally being wound up by external sources. And for the past week, I have been all of those things. And more.

I have been reduced almost to the point of breakdown - physically and car related - as our usual five to 10 minute school run journey has increased to at least 40 minutes.

I could - probably, maybe - just about cope with that, but when we arrive at said roadworks and temporary traffic lights and surrounding ensuing chaos, and see no one working, the ire really sets in.

And not just mine. Anyone who has endured a 40-minute journey in grid-locked traffic with a tired, fractious five-year-old will appreciate it's no picnic. And then there's the fact Boy talks non stop. In between moaning about how long it is taking to get to school, he is yakking in an observatory manner: 'Oh look, there's a lamppost', 'look mummy, someone wearing a yellow hat', 'over there, mummy, quickly, look, there's a pigeon!'

And this incessant talking combined with his complaining, mixed in with the sound of horns beeping, engines revving and the tick of the clock as it heads faster and faster towards lateness, makes for a very stressed out and not very jovial mummy.

So yet again - as I recall having visited this topic in the past - I am questioning the wisdom of the timing of roadworks. On this occasion being carried out on a main road that is the direct route to at least three schools, during the week before half term.

Yes, the week before half term. A mere seven days before the traffic will be at least halved.

Is it beyond the wit of those who arrange such things to check the holiday schedules and work around them, emergency work not withstanding?

Because really, when I have yet to see a single fluorescent bib or safety boot in close proximity to the works - or indeed a workman wearing them - I am assuming this episode of road digging was not on the must do now list.

And quite aside from the sheer inconvenience and disruption to everyone's schedule getting caught up in the jams during rush hour, from my point of view, there's a far more irritating and pressing concern: my non stop talking son.

There really is only so much being nattered at at an alarming rate I can cope with at early o'clock: about 10 minutes. My usual journey time. Please highways people, take pity on me.