It is always around this time of year, when the weather has started to change and I finally get to leave the house in the light.
Throughout the whole winter, I sit in my car on the motorway and it’s pitch black outside. The headlights create a stream into my windscreen and it’s close to being mesmerising. I spend half of the year driving to and from work in the dark.
Then February hits and there are glimmers of light. The evening drive home starts off with the last remains of the daylight, yet I still arrive home in the pitch black.
My routine changes around the start of March. I get to leave the house in the daylight. I have the joy of leaving work at the end of the day and still getting home in the sunshine. My drive seems shorter, the traffic seems lighter and the commute is weirdly nice.
It’s not just a mental shift thanks to the light. I know the traffic actually gets lighter over the summer due to the schools all having a very nice six-week break.
This means that I can leave home fifteen minutes later and still arrive earlier in the office. I can have an extra lie in, I can hit the snooze button one more time and most importantly, I now have time to make a fresh cup of coffee before I leave home.
My routine changes and my days become lighter.
It’s all good news, except for the mere fact that the roads get hit with some major potholes. They slowly grow from a crack and then somehow, they expand to the size of a small country. How are these not dealt with before they have spread?
I ask the question because I have just spent the best part of my morning on a car tyre search. I need a new tyre, I probably shouldn’t have driven the rest of the journey to work on my spare, but I did.
All because I finally hit that pot hole in the road. It’s on the inside of a blind corner and I had no chance of avoiding it. The second I knew I was going to descend into the hole, I immediately tensed my body, my face contorted and I raced myself for the pain to come.
The sound of my wheel rim hitting the tarmac reverberated around the insides of my car. I knew that I had done at least some damage. The noise was too loud for me to pretend it hadn’t hurt. Then the sound of air escaping from the confines of my tyre gave the final hints.
I needed a new tyre and I needed it very soon. I’ve found one and I have found the one I wanted. I need a tyre which can sit on the motorway for five-hundred miles a week and still not ruin my fuel efficiency.
Luckily, there’s no way that I would let one pot hole ruin my new summer routine. Or even my new summer positive outlook.