In case you’ve already forgotten, there was a wee bit of snow last week. On Thursday, I was sat at my desk, watching the world turn white and the traffic outside come to a complete standstill.
As we all left the office, I asked Matt how long he reckoned it would take to get home. 2 hours, he replied.
Pff, I thought – there’s no way. The traffic’s bad, but it’s not that bad.
Oh. Sweet naive Mel. How wrong you were.
17:00: Here goes. This won’t be that bad.
17:20: As I sit, still stuck in the car park, my confidence starts to waver.
17:30: Hmmm, I don’t have the most petrol. But I’ve got enough to get me home.
17:31: (I hope)
17:35: I could pull into Tesco for fuel, but at this rate it will probably add another year onto my journey.
17:40: This is getting a little bit ridiculous. In the last 40 minutes, I’ve moved about 300 metres down the road. Should I just abandon my car and walk home?
17:45: No, that would be silly. I’m sure the traffic will ease up soon.
17:55: It would appear the snow is coming down harder now. Still, I’m sure the traffic will ease up soon.
18:00: I miss my home.
18:20: Fuck, I can still see my office from here.
18:21: I no longer miss home. This car is my home now.
18:30: I’m so glad I have supplies (3 bags of Pom Bears).
18:40: I’ll just have one bag of bears. Probably should ration them out in case this is a long night.
18:41: My OCD makes me reluctant to touch the crisps, so I develop a very elegant way of pouring them into my mouth, straight out of the bag.
18:45: Bag number 2. There are now bears flying around all over the place. Perhaps my system isn’t quite as elegant as I thought.
18:55: I’ve crept forward approximately 30 feet in the last ten minutes. Despair has set in. Almost 2 hours have passed and I can still see my office in the rearview mirror.
19:00: ‘Get in my face bears!’ I cackle madly, shovelling bag number 3 into my mouth. Am slightly afraid of the hysterical edge to my voice. Cabin fever, I fear, is kicking in.
19:10: I now have no food, no water, and I’m starting to need a wee.
19:20: Shit, but for real though, what do I do if I have to wee?!
19:25: Realise I’ve spent the last 5 minutes working out how to fashion a makeshift nappy out of the half a pack of sanitary towels in my bag.
19:30: Beginning to have serious doubts about the durability of my DIY nappy.
19:32: What would Bear Grylls do?
19:45: Screw it, I’ll just wee if I have to. Seats can be cleaned, and maybe if I carefully aim the heating vents at the scene of the crime, it will dry quick enough to not become too uncomfortable. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t end up weeing myself. But I’m certain I was capable of it.)
19:55: I’ve been stuck next to a Domino’s for the last 15 minutes. Is this the universe’s way of taunting me?
20:00: I am still on the road I work on – how is this possible?!
20:05: Seriously, 3 fucking hours? To travel approximately 1 mile down the road?
20:10: Things are starting to get a bit hairy. Cars are skidding on the ice and slush, and struggling to get up the hill. Police are having the push people.
20:15: I manage, somehow, to get up the hill unaided. Feel slightly baffled that my tiny little Vauxhall Adam full of decapitated Pom Bears, fared better than the sturdier, more beefy cars in front of me. I’m also a little bit proud.
20:20: I’m now next to a pet shop. If it comes to it, I find myself wondering, which pet food would I prefer to eat?
20:25: Rabbit food would probably be the best option. It’s vegetarian and probably the least offensive in terms of taste.
20:30: Is this what it’s come to? 3 and a half hours stuck in the car and I’ve resigned myself to weeing freely and eating pet food? I’d be shocked if I wasn’t so busy feeling frustrated.
20:35: I’m also feeling slightly anxious, if I’m honest. My petrol is rapidly running down, and I’ve turned my engine off to conserve fuel. Any amusement I’ve found in the situation up until now is rapidly dissipating.
20:45: When I turn my engine back on, the ‘ice is possible’ warning sign lights up. You think you’re sooooo fucking funny, don’t you, car?
21:00: 4 hours now. Starting to seriously doubt I’ll be home before midnight.
21:05: As I realise I’m about to reach a huge hill, my stomach sinks.
21:15: Cars are really struggling to get up this hill. Shit, what happens if I genuinely can’t make it. Hopefully someone will help me, but what if they don’t? For the second time, the reality of the situation hits me and I feel panic building.
21:20: It takes a lot of sliding around (plus smacking into the kerb), but I get there, unaided. Again, I am relieved and slightly astonished.
21:21: My burning clutch smells UNHOLY. (Not a euphemism.)
21:30: With all this time stuck in the car, I learn that my theory (below), is indeed, correct. I have now heard approximately 8,000 Ed Sheeran songs.
21:45: ‘This is a really nice song,’ I think to myself. I wonder who it is.
21:47: It’s Ed Sheeran. Of course it bloody is.
22:00: This truly is one of the most ridiculous situations I’ve ever been in.
22:05: There’s literally no way anyone could come and rescue me. My only other option is to abandon ship and walk.
22:06: Ffs, it’s 2018. Why doesn’t teleportation exist?
22:07: Actually, no – I’d just settle for some sort of more effective way of dealing with snow.
22:08: No, again, scrap that. Right now I’d just settle for another bag of Pom Bears.
22:10: To think, I was actually planning to drive up to Nottingham tonight. *Laughs madly to self*
22:15: Another Ed Sheeran song.
22:20: Why did I eat all my food earlier?! I’m definitely going to need to get some kebab shop cheesy chips in my face.
22:25: What if the kebab shop is closed?! Wouldn’t that just be my luck?
22:35: *’Perfect’, by Ed Sheeran plays* – Ed, mate, come on. Now you’re just trolling me.
22:40: I’ve had to undo my trousers to relieve unnecessary pressure on my bladder.
22:50: I have arrived at the kebab shop. I can’t quite believe I’ve finally made it. My head feels fuzzy and my bottom is completely numb.
22:51: I step out of the car and two things happen simultaneously. 1) I almost slip over on some ice, and 2) I realise my trousers are still hanging open.
As I stumble, I imagine myself splayed out on the ground outside the kebab shop, legs akimbo, with my trousers round my ankles.
And really, after everything I went through to get home in one piece, that would just be fucking typical, wouldn’t it?