Speederz

Just after I got the SLK I took it over to Germany, I found a nice long stretch of empty autobahn, and I took it up to 145mph which was absolutely amazing. After I did this I couldn't stop thinking about everything that could have gone wrong and the fact that it could have happened so quickly and that I could have done absolutely nothing about it. A tyre might have burst, a bird flown into my path, or I could have sneezed! Any one of these would have resulted in possible catastrophe. But hey, I was doing 145 and it was big fun - or was it.

Move on a few years and I have discovered a certain joy in actually sticking to the speed limit. I used to be like everyone else and think it was just fine to do 40 in a 30 limit and as fast as conditions would allow on a motorway, but no longer. Now that I'm a magistrate I definitely don't want to be caught speeding so I have no choice but to stick religiously to the limits, and you know what, I like it, I really like it.

Going to work now is no longer a mad dash along the M27 and M3, but is now a nice drive through Fair Oak and on to Hursley casually following the guy in front with the cruise set at 30. I can look around, see what's going on, and never need to have one eye constantly scanning for plod. I can enjoy the music and enjoy the car.

Today I had to drive up to Heathrow and had a nice easy 70mph drive up the M3, no stress, no problem. It was nice being able to spend the time not thinking about my next manoever, but thinking about all kinds of stuff, in fact whatever I felt like. One thing I kept drifting back to was concerning all the cars that were screaming past me in the outside lane. Why was it that the majority of them were small Renaults and Peugeots - could it be that those cars are so dreadful that they're only going fast in order to get their journeys over with as soon as possible? And all the repmobiles scrambling to get to their next sales conference or client, or whatever it is that reps do. And the mindless idiots in driving their vans that tailgate the car in front leaving a gap that can be measured in microns.

All I know is now that I've accepted this new way of driving I can get to where I'm going feeling relaxed, in a good mood, and ready for whatever lays in store, whereas before I just arrived stressed out.

How many pillows?

Once upon a time a bed used to have two pillows for every person who used it, but this age old rule no longer seems to apply, and certainly not in my house. We do have a pretty big bed, it comes from Norway and is a 'super-king', which means it's almost 2 meters wide, and it takes three pillows across it's width, however we actually have 10 pillows on our bed. Apparently some of them aren't pillows at all but are in fact cushions, not that I'm at familiar with whatever the difference is between a pillow and a cushion. We also have this other thing that lays across the bed just in front of all the pillows (or cushions) that seems to serve no obvious purpose at all. I have no idea what it's called, but it apparently needs to be removed when we're in bed and put back on when we're not.

We were at my mother in law's place this afternoon and moved some furniture around in her bedroom for her. When we were almost finished she put the new linen with two pillows on to her bed, and asked me how it looked. I said I thought it was fine except she was apparently three pillows short. She looked very confused and asked me what I meant - I still am very confused and told her I didn't have a clue.

I love Wimbledon but I hate it.

Wimbledon - there are things that make me both love it and hate it in equal measures. I love that fact that it's such a big deal tournament, and that it's a really nice day out - assuming your lucky enough to get a ticket - and that even though I don't really like watching tennis that I can still enjoy it so much.

But what I really hate is the Britishness of it all. It's just such a stuffy event and all that clinging on to tradition makes no sense at all to me. The place is full of posers who are so far up themselves you just want to scream and then there are all those old fashioned middle-class types who simply exude everything I hate about being British.

When we were there last week I found the unreasonable partisanship incredibly embarrassing, especially in games where neither of the players was English, like most of the crowd undoubtedly were. The people sitting in the sun endlessly complaining about the heat were tiresome, and the people who were walking around looking down their noses at everyone else were even worse.

But the strawberries were fantastic and so is just being there - especially when you're in the front row right next to the net.