I'M adding another road sign to the list of 'road signs I hate most', and it's the one which announces that 'so and so's firm is carrying out essential roadworks', which are usually erected just before a wonky light system which keeps you waiting much longer than most official red lights do and results in a long queue on an otherwise empty road. What annoys me is that the use of the word 'essential' infers that there are occasions when the roadworks are not essential at all. Do these firms sometimes set out in the morning without a job and start digging holes in the road just for the fun of it? Does the boss tell his workforce that they're not on essential roadworks that week but they might as well keep their hand in by lifting a few tons of tarmac and irritating motorists? Probably not, but I don't know why they bother to tell us anything, when we all know perfectly well that they're putting in cable television for the rich folks in the new housing estate who no doubt think this is the ultimate in essential. This road sign is added to an ever growing list which is topped with the 'sorry to have inconvenienced you' sort of sign you see at the end of roadworks. By the time you read this one you are already fuming after half an hour or more of driving at two miles and hour and trying to fend off the driver behind who thinks he's going to get there much quicker by driving so close you can see the numbers on his mobile telephone. You know, of course, that they're not really sorry at all. Otherwise they wouldn't have several hundred traffic cones, big white arrow signs, flashing lights and numerous laughable ' police speed check area' signs when nobody could possibly break the speed limit unless its dropped to zero miles an hour. Plus, inevitably, not a workman in sight. That's the most irritating thing. You wouldn't mind if there was a flurry of activity all along the route, but a Marie Celeste situation for mile after mile is particularly galling when you're in a hurry. Usually, just before you get to the end of the five miles of roadworks you spot them. Two men laying a kerbstone. Oh well, that's all right then. Still on the road, but with a more positive outcome. Last Friday the Callington road was closed because of an accident at Newbridge when I went home, with a sign at the top of Liskeard on the roundabout just before you turn onto the A392 to Callington. This indicated that drivers should go via Saltash. I decided, however, that if I turned off towards Pensilva at St Ive I could get home via Upton Cross, Rilla Mill, Coads Green and Bray Shop and then onto the A392 from Launceston, a circuitous but scenic route and at least I'd be travelling. Reaching Pensilva I remembered that there was a road across to Golberdon which would considerably shorten the route, although I'd never been on it. Now regular readers of this column know that I 'm averse to the reverse in a car and avoid narrow lanes whenever possible. For some reason I persuaded myself in an instant that the Golberdon Road would not be too narrow. Initially this was true. But I should have known that this is the sort of road which lulls you into a false sense of security. Nice and wide to begin with, plenty of passing places, then wham, single track, thick hedges and walls and blind bends. Even so I was lucky at first. When cars were coming towards me I managed to pull over several times. I noted that by now there was a fair old queue behind me, obviously other people had the same idea, but I was at the front and when a line of cars came up a hill I lurched into the only available passing place, and watched rather smugly as the rest of them had to reverse. But those who croweth too sooneth are asking for trouble. Round the next bend was my nemesis because coming up the hill was another line of cars. Two scraped past, but a large white van couldn't and he made one of those rather Continental shrugging signs which in the vernacular means, or to me at least, you're stuffed! I thought I didn't do too badly really, well, only one stall and two or three veerings into the hedge. But then the good old British spirit of coping in a minor emergency emerged. One man jumped out of his car and took charge, directed me and two cars behind into a field, directed the large white van into a field on the other side of the lane and proceeded to untangle the ever growing queues behind. Another man drove down the lane to stop vehicles coming up, establishing an effective one-way system, and eventually we were all off. No road rage, no short tempers and what is more we all chatted to one another. Mind you, however pretty, I'll not be taking the road to Golberdon again in a hurry. Or even when I'm not in a hurry.

I WONDER if other readers get bothered with a constant stream of what I can only think of describing as non-telephone calls. With the family away, I've been the only one to answer calls and it has been brought home to me that at least 50 per cent of the telephone calls coming into the house are what at the very least I can describe as time wasters. At the very most what I describe them as isn't printable. I'm not talking about the various teenage callers who want my granddaughter, no doubt to talk about the countdown to the first day of term, or what they did in the holidays or who's found a new shade of lipstick. They are nice polite little girls who say sorry for bothering me so I don't point out that I was in the bath or might have fancied a lie-in on a Sunday morning. What irks me are the other calls. Over the two weeks, mostly in the evening, I had nine calls which were some kind of sales scam, pretending I'd won something. They don't even bother to let real people lie to you any more they have a pretend real person which you can instantly tell is a recording. I slam the telephone down as soon as I hear the tinny voice saying 'hullo', or worse, 'hi'. But the real irritation are the calls from various banks and credit card companies who are, they say, making a courtesy call. Oh no they're not, they're ringing to get you to spend more money or sign up for another card. They don't say 'hullo, we're just ringing to see if you're alright, have had a nice summer, are in good health and we wish you well for the future.' At the very least they ask if you are satisfied with the service you are getting. So what do you say? No, I think it's a load of rubbish. That will open up a whole can of worms because they'll want to know what the problem is and how they can solve it and you'll be on the telephone for an hour. Over the two weeks I think I must have had at least two dozen telephone calls, mostly at weekends, asking for me, my daughter, her husband or both of them. They came in numerous accents, with a varying degree of politeness. Most accepted my explanation that those they were seeking were on holiday, except one man who rang three times on one day, slammed the phone down when I repeated my earlier explanation and obviously didn't believe me. If he was ringing to make a courtesy call he obviously hadn't quite got the hang of it. By Sunday night I was fast losing patience after four calls in the space of an hour. I told one caller that I didn't know because I was only looking after the dog, and was contemplating barking wildly if he didn't go away. I was fairly short with a nice Irish girl who was at least trying to be courteous, because she had interrupted my dinner. Another call came two minutes later from the electronic voice and I slammed the receiver down with an almighty crash, sending the cats running for the stairs. At 8.30 the telephone rang again and I just knew it was the electronic voice, so I picked the telephone up and told it to go away, only not quite in those words. There was an intake of breath and the receiver went dead. I suspect it was our man in Bombay who hopefully has got the message, but I don't hold out much hope.

FINALLY, I note that our revered council, or Caradon if you like, is closing public lavatories like mad, depriving visitors and locals alike with the most basic of facilities on the grounds that they are too expensive to run. It occurs to me that they might like to think of another approach. Whilst on holiday a year ago, visiting a somewhat rundown area of a city my daughter and I gratefully spotted the sign for a loo and to our surprise found a spotless room, rather like someone's sitting room, with fluffy towels, a wash basin, tissues and air fresheners, all conveniences, so to speak. We realised as we came out that it was privately run, but happily paid around 20p each, probably far more than the locals paid but worth every penny. Perhaps some enterprising person could take over some of the loos Caradon doesn't want and turn them into little paying concerns. Before long they could have a successful chain of lavatories and some very comfortable customers. - Mary Richards