North Birmingham Infinity Loop.

Quiz night at the Foley Arms, Stourbridge, August 19. It was possibly the last outing for the Inquizitors (because one member is soon relocating to Spain), and we did not exactly excel. We were saved from the ignominy of last place only by the couple around the corner. But it was fun to spend some time with my girl friends (not girlfriends!) again.

The journey home started in interesting fashion when, spotting an traffic-free opportunity, I boldly pulled out of the pub car park and across 2 lanes to turn right without noticing the (distinctly minimalist) central reservation. No matter. I don't think it caught the exhaust pipe.

After dropping Liz at her house I set the TomTom to take us back to Nottingham. Before too long we were going north on the M5 to join the M4. Which is where things started to go wrong.

A sign stated that the M4 was closed between junction something and junction something else. Not knowing the junctions this was rather meaningless to me, but was soon to become incredibly important. As we reached the M4 there were lanes coned off, and a very confusing set of signs, but I succeeded in getting on the M4 OK. On the other side of the road the traffic was at a standstill, so I glibly commented to Shelagh that I was glad to be going that way.

After a couple of miles, though, with the TomTom asking me to take the next exit, it became apparent that we were actually going north rather than east. It seemed prudent to follow the next big "Diversion" sign.

At the junction roundabout I found  myself in 3 lanes of lorries with no helpful follow-up Diversion signs anywhere, and ended up crossing over the motorway bridge and taking the third of three very close exits ...and proceeding along the self same stretch of road but in the opposite direction! And into the queueing traffic we'd passed earlier! Meanwhile Shelagh was phoning her husband to say she might be late home.

When we eventually arrived back at the first junction the M4 was predictably closed, there was lots of traffic, a huge roundabout and no obvious Diversion signs so I took an exit at random, anxiety levels through the roof, desperately trying to remember one of the destinations listed for it (Wednesbury, Wednesbury, Wednesbury...). Eventually there was an industrial estate where I could pull over and look at the map. After some searching I found Wednesbury and determined that we needed to be going in the opposite direction. Relieved to have a plan of sorts I drove back to the roundabout, albeit through a red light I didn't notice in the process.

But somehow, at the roundabout, with the lane closures and diversions, I ended up driving back north on the M4 ...to the SAME exit and roundabout I'd just come from!

Well at least I knew which exit I definitely didn't want - I opted for the first of the three this time.

...and convinced myself I was travelling towards Birmingham. We have history, Birmingham and me (see The TomTom), so I made a U-turn and went back to the roundabout, chose the second of the exits, which took us over the motorway and away.

This whole thing would have been bad enough without a passenger in the car. The normally irrepressible Shelagh had fallen strangely silent. I tried my best to reassure her, adopting the most manly tone I could muster. "I WILL get you home!" (If I say it loud enough, perhaps I'll believe it...)

I figured that if I got far enough away from the M4 and then looped around, that will get me past the closed junctions and back on familiar ground. Sure enough, after 2 or 3 miles there was significant junction and a chance to go right. There was even a Diversion sign here, and it seemed a good idea to follow it. 

Not so. Some 10 minutes later we were back at the roundabout AGAIN. For the FOURTH time.

This was the time to start feeling that there was some malign Blair Witch-like force at work. In reality I was too tired and fed up to think of anything except what to do next.

Something drastic needed to change if I was not going to spend the entire night revisiting this roundabout. So I made the complete circle and took the road I've just come down. With as much assertion as I could manage I told Shelagh "We're not turning until we see a sign for Sutton Coldfield". The poor satnav was having an anxiety attack equal to mine: "Make a U turn when safe!", Turn left and then left!", "Take the second exit!", "In 100 yards turn right!".

But, eventually, we did manage to reach Sutton Coldfield. From there I was prepared to let the TomTom to take me to the M42.

There were some moments of unease when we seemed to be proceeding along an increasingly narrow, and very dark, country lane but, to the TomTom's surprise, I followed obediently and blindly until, Hallelujah!, there was a sign for the M42. Moses could scarcely have been more happy to see the promised land.

Dropped off Shelagh; got home at 1:45 am, 3 hours after leaving the Foley Arms. C was waiting, worried. Shelagh has not spoken to me since.