Outside the process of British democracy and all the
accepted laws of God and man there exists a breed called highway engineers. Whilst
directly descended from those who preyed upon travellers in olden days these
have learned that sitting in offices and interfering with traffic is more
comfortable and profitable than charging around on horses. The origins of the
term ‘daylight robbery’ have similarly been refined in that now everyone else
is kept in the dark.
Regardless of financial and other constraint- including healthcare
and educational priorities- budgets for ever more unfathomable alterations to
existing roads are undiluted. This is again a refinement on attempting to build
new roads which attract attention through opposition on environmental grounds. Elaborate
alterations to existing junctions, perpetual widening, narrowing and re-alignment
of existing roads is much more satisfying way of expending the endless budget. Those
with decorative tendencies among their number will concentrate on the constant
interposition of new traffic lights. Those more philosophically inclined to
challenge the theories of Darwinism will interfere with the process of natural
selection by erecting grey galvanised barriers at every opportunity. The
talents of both will be combined by ornamenting every thoroughfare with all
manner of signs.
Each year in late March there is an annual celebration of
Completely Pointless Roadworks which serves the practical purpose of using up
any unspent budgets of other departments less competent at spending public
money. School roof repairs are instantly converted into traffic calming
measures in suburban streets causing children to arrive late at their leaky
assembly halls through April. The frenetic activity of Spring is in marked
contrast to the lazy days of Summer when holes are slowly moved from one end of
a road to the other. It is this seasonal cycle which marks the town from the
country, the drains blocked by falling leaves and localised flooding of Autumn,
the absence of gritters and sudden appearance of cavernous potholes in Winter.
The Highwaymen are now as established a feature of the town
and city as they once were on the coaching roads in days of yore. Instead of
crying “stand and deliver” they now deliver standstills. The Bow Street Runner
is dead – long live the Sleeping Policemen.
