Twas a dark grey, foggy November morning when I decided to visit Moulton Medical Centre.
My journey became perilous in the extreme, as a thick layer of mud appeared on the road.
With the poor visibility I started to wonder if I had left the road but noticed a dyke on either side of this muddy strip but just to make sure I turned my sat nav on and it revealed I was on Fengate moving North.
As my journey continued I spotted a dark object ahead, a tractor and trailer and in front of that was another tractor.
So my perilous slow journey became an even slower journey, but after about a mile and much anticipation, relief, the tractor in front signaled left and pulled over onto the side of the road.
But my jubilation was short lived because the second tractor, instead of pulling over and allowing me and the dozen or so cars that had queued up behind me to pass, just pulled out and overtook the first tractor.
So as frustration turned to rage I closed in hoping for an opportunity to overtake, but the tractor driver positioned himself so as to occupy three quarters of the road.
He still had one more weapon left in his armory and with a wiggle of his steering and a sudden burst of acceleration, the last remaining mud on his tyres was flung strait at my windscreen.
Now nearly blinded, but luckily my washers had recently been filled so having emptied the entire contents on my screen I was ready to move in for the kill, but what chance could a little Kia Rio have against a mighty tractor and trailer laden with sugar beet?
I realised my only hope was to get the number plate and report this evil villain, but the tractor driver had already meticulously planned for such a move – the number plate was completely covered in mud. Then after nearly three miles, the tractor driver decided he had punished me enough, and turned.
So then, defeated, in a car that started red but was now camouflaged with mud, I at least had a clear road ahead and was able to reach my destination.