Oblong Scone

If there’s two lanes, and you want to go straight on at a roundabout, you should be in the left lane. Those are the rules, or rule as probably a singular one of them is called. Like with most roundabout approaches, the roundabout I'm going to talk about today( in what may very well be the first in a series of roundabout anecdotes that may later turn into a book and possibly a feature film starring Cher ) never has a queue in the right-hand lane. I don’t have the first idea as to what you'll see or experience if you take the right hand turn at the roundabout. What I do know is that it isn’t attracting the kind of crowds that straight on is. So in effect every work day, I like most others, am dismissing the ever present opportunity of turning right. Like a sheep, my only priority on my journeys to work is heading towards the office I work in. I say ‘like a sheep’, I’m of course referring to a sheep that can drive and hold down a job at an engineering firm; and to be fair I don’t

I was left with no choice but to purchase fuel from a motorway service station on the M25 . And thus, being on a motorway, the price of fuel is considerably higher. Probably due to the difficulty of transporting petrol to places along a motorway, compared to say, obscure villages in Cornwall. I pull into BP and am rather horrified to see that Diesel is going to set me back 114.9p per litre. This is over seven pence more per litre than I have even spent on fuel. This is, without doubt, a complete fucking con. Those of you thinking that BP hadn’t predicted their customer’s annoyance to outrageously priced fuel would be wrong. One of the world’s most profitable companies are all too aware of the hardship their prices are putting on the average Lionel in the street and thus as a sign of goodwill, are willing to practically throw free money at their customers. So when I pick up the nozzle, my eyes are drawn to their big promotion, their giving back proudly plastered all over the fuel pumps