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The M25, Southbound

As promised here is Emily's short story. I hope you enjoy it!



Sometimes you just need to escape. You need to be free from the monotonous everyday. You need to live.

On this particularly sunny spring morning, I felt like living. So, without a care in the world, I took to my wheels and am currently hurtling down the M25, southbound. It is utter bliss.

No more mushy breakfast, or meaningless lunchtime tattle with Jane. No more constant judgement, from cocky youths with patronising stares. And the best part of all: no more rules. They make rules for everything these days: sit here now, swallow this then; I’ve even got a timer for brushing my teeth! It’s like living in a ruddy prison. Well, stuff all that law and order; I’m having an adventure.


The wind is sweeping my hair back but everything else propels me forward. Nothing will stop me from having this Sean Connery moment. That film of his said You Only Live Twice and I’m starting to know what it means. Here comes the new chapter, and the page feels fresh and untouched.


I’m heading southbound, to the coast, because there’s nothing like filling your lungs with a bit of seaside air. Everything at the coast is free. Water goes on for eternity, skies are untouched by buildings and birds squawk to their hearts content. No one to tell them their wails are too loud.


Aargh, aargh, aargh.


I remember the days when Margret and I would watch them circling the sky, diving down when they spotted a loose chip, then soaring upwards with the prize snapped shut in its beak. If I go back to the seagulls, maybe Margret will come back to me.


Weeooo, weeooo, weeooo.


That’s not a seagull. The sound reminds me that I’m not at the coast yet. I slow down and pull in closer to the left, expecting the police car to zoom straight past. But it doesn’t. It’s slowing down behind me; not possible! I’m well below the speed limit? These ruddy policemen and their ideas about control. I consider the right thing to do: to pull over obediently and listen to their idiotic questions. Perhaps in the past I would have cooperated, but right now I can only think about the future. So, I push down on the accelerator, building up speed. If they’re looking for trouble, I might as well give it. The tyres are whirring round and I’m making a break for it. I can do this; I am winning this chase.


I stop winning. The police car manages to overtake and cut me off, so that my only option is surrender. As I am forced to break, I watch two police-officers rushing out of their vehicle and running towards me. It’s completely terrifying. I’m racking my brains to think why they’ve come for me. Until now, I have always been a law-abiding individual. I’ve followed the rules, even the useless ones, and have never caused harm to anyone. People even say that about me: ‘Aw dear Frank, couldn’t hurt a fly’.


So why on earth are they here? Who must they think I am? What could they possibly want from an old man on his mobility scooter?




Frank also appears in It's Raining in Moscow and I Forgot my Umbrella.

You can get hold of it here,



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