Do you remember when you were a child and you fell over and hurt yourself and your mother or some other adult would say: 'Now, what did you want to go and do that for?' as if you had had any choice in the matter and had decided that throwing yourself on gravel and severely grazing your knees was a fun thing to do. Well it's the same thing as ringing up your daughter to tell her that you are coming down to see her at the weekend and she says: 'Now, don't go and get stuck in a traffic jam like you did last week.' I drew in a sharp intake of breath ready for a lengthy reply but she'd already clicked the phone off and I knew that by the time I'd got down to redialling (I'm not good with mobile phones) I would have lost the impetus to deliver a stinging sarcastic reply. Of course I was going to get stuck in at traffic jam, I just love them. If I couldn't find one here I'd have driven over the border into Devon to mingle with stop go traffic near Exeter on the M5 I love them so much. The week before I had taken nearly three hours to drive a route which is usually just over an hour. I'd worked out beforehand just where the traffic jam was likely to be and was rewarded with not just one but two, plus a ten-minute wait to get back into a flow of traffic because nobody would let me in when I stopped to ring my daughter to tell her that I had, luckily, managed to find the mother of all traffic jams just past Bodmin and was going to be very, very late. The first traffic jam was between Liskeard and Dobwalls, which is a place that, if you are desperately in need of a slow drive, you make for in August. The news that Dobwalls by-pass has finally been approved has been greeted with delight by those people who live in a village bisected by a continuous line of vehicles usually being driven by fed-up people who are already regretting the decision to holiday in Cornwall rather than the Costa del Sol. Most of them, the inhabitants, are saying: 'We'll believe it when we see it'. And who can blame them, they've waited more than 50 years. We lovers of traffic jams, however, will be sad to see that line of nearly stopped traffic crawling up the hill, next to a line of bollards which is supposed to prevent a bottleneck and even slower traffic but hasn't really worked. Traffic jams can be really restful. You see things you don't normally notice when you're driving past at speed. Birds building their nests, or even laying eggs and raising their young if it's a bad jam. Unusual plants on the verges. Back gardens with owners who are treated to a thousand pairs of eyes peering at them which will teach them a lesson for sunbathing topless. You can count the leaves on big trees. Begin to write a novel in your head. Mentally compile your Christmas present list. That morning I thought I was going to miss the Dobwalls crawl because the A38 was practically empty when I joined it at Liskeard. I can't remember when I last got into fifth gear driving that way but, just as I was about to change up, I rounded a corner and there was the familiar twinkle of brake lights going on and off. A great deal of time later, I was creeping through Dobwalls. You don't like to make eye contact with locals because you feel guilty knowing you are part of their problems. Through the village and the A38 was surprisingly empty. Initially you can play the 'Who's going to Trago?' game, fairly easy because all the women in cars who are have that eager 'spend, spend, spend' look on their faces and all the men have a resigned 'this is going to cost me' look on theirs. Just outside Bodmin is decision-making time. Shall I go through the town and hope for a snarl up in the middle bit where triple parking on the side of the road seems to be a local custom or should I make for the A30 where I know roadworks have been creating some nice jams? The A30 it was, on the grounds that it has nicer verges and better bird life to look at and there's no off-road until the next roundabout several miles ahead. There's no way of telling if the road is clear until you have gone halfway down the slip road. Some people, unwisely, try to reverse back up this road, which is something neither the Highway Code nor a passing police car approves of, but those of us after a good traffic jam carry on and, on this occasion, were rewarded by a jam which had already started. Indeed, it took some time to persuade someone to let me into the nearly stationary queue. Drivers are either letters-in or not letters-in. I'm a letter-in now, although there was a time when I used to get furious if someone had the temerity to try to sneak in. I'd drive within inches of the car in front, determined not to give in to desperate glances, smiles, arm waving or small children sobbing their eyes out. Then one day I thought 'for goodness sake grow up woman, it's not going to make any difference if you let cars in', so now I always do. I don't know how long the jam lasted. I think I'd written three chapters of my novel, viewed numerous species of birds in the hedges, counted sheep, vacuumed the inside of the car (joking) and listened to a CD many times. Ironically, one track was called 'Slow Down', another had the lines 'count to ten, turn around and start again'. Ideal for a traffic jam. Things happened in this jam. People had pulled over and were drinking tea and eating their sandwiches. An enterprising Cornish firm had a van full of mineral water and were selling it to marooned drivers. A boy got out of his car and played the guitar for a few minutes. You can't talk to people much in cars next to you but you can exchange a smile or two. It was hot so people in convertibles had their tops down. These are usually the exception to my letting-in policy, because they rarely thank you. It occurred to me that if we make motorcyclists wear helmets when driving, why don't we make people in covertibles wear them as well? They are just as much exposed to the elements. Just an idle thought. All too soon we could see the cause of the jam, the rebuilding of a roundabout system with an even bigger system to help the traffic on its way some time in the distant future. The road went into a single lane and an obstacle course of bollards. Once through, there were no more jams and I arrived without further hold-ups. My traffic jam claims were looked upon with scepticism. 'The roads are clear around here,' was mentioned. Of course they were, they weren't full of cars trying to get to Penzance by lunchtime, that was why. This week, I was told I couldn't get caught in a jam so I worked out another route. Longer in miles but shorter in time. I have, on occasions, made the mistake of asking people if they know a quicker way and they are usually only too happy to give you their pet cross- country route. 'I usually turn off at Big Ben Hill, head for Lower Baguette but turn off just after the Dog and Duck to avoid the traffic lights at Croissant corner. Then take the fourth, no the fifth if you count the entrance to the ostrich sanctuary, turn and go by way of Biggins Ford, which is passable unless it's been raining. Four miles further on take a right, then a left, then another right, or is it a left then a right? Never mind, there's a white cottage on the corner of the second turn with a big red rhododendron in the front garden, which won't be out now but you can't miss it. Turn there, it's narrow, but Saturday isn't a schoolday so you won't meet the bus like I did and had to reverse for a mile and a half. Drive up a very steep hill, one in four I think, follow the road about a mile then you'll see a road on your left. Ignore that and drive on three miles and you'll see a yellow bungalow on your left, you can't miss it although they were painting it last time I passed so it may not be yellow. Come to think of it, I seem to remember it was half yellow and half pink so it may be all pink now, unless that was the undercoat. Turn right there and cross a little bridge and just after that there's a sign saying Middle Crumble two miles. Turn down there. About two miles further on you'll see another sign saying Middle Crumble two and a half miles, turn left there. Drive on for about four miles, through Middle Crumble, on to Lower Crumble and then Higher Crumble and keep straight on. Eventually you'll reach the main road. Follow the signs to Padstow and then ask somebody.' On Saturday, I did manage to find a small traffic jam on the A30 just before the Jamaica Inn sign but after half an hour that petered out, Bodmin didn't have any hold-ups at all and I arrived more or less on time. Never mind, you can't win 'em all.
