There are a lot of things that become familiar on about the fourth drive to and from Middlesbrough (damn you Calderdale and your lack of beds). There are the sprawling fields of Rape, the wind turbines, the signs that say “verge works” but you never see anyone there, let alone of the verge of working.
One thing you don’t think you’ll see – or at least I didn’t – are the same bloody lorries. They must do the run from Leeds to Middlesbrough, or something similar. Some we’ve seen on the way up and the way down.
It’s easiest to tell with the Eddie Stobart ones, obviously, as they’re named. Although the names are a little bit obscure these days. We’ve encountered a Bunty Kieran today, possibly on their way to have the crap kicked out of them by some other bully trucks. But the others come with little things that you start to recognise after a while – specific muck patterns, or numberplates you can make rude words out of.
We’ve even started to recognise cars too. There’s one in Middlesbrough which has impatiently passed us on the way home two days running. Both times we’ve called them a rude name.