The day the gods tried to kill me.

The day started a little earlier than normal for me as I was taking some friends to Manchester airport. The alarm had gone off at 2.30am and we had set off by 3.30am. The route to Manchester from Doncaster is a nice 40 mile trip taking in the delights of Barnsley, The Pennines and then Manchester Airport.

Everything was going fine until about 20 minutes into the journey. Whilst driving past Locke Park in Barnsley something struck my front windscreen at the bottom left hand corner producing a sound like a gun shot as a 6 inch crack appeared in the windscreen. My passengers gave out a scream whilst I tried to work out what had happened.

Anyone ordered a broken windscreen?

As you can see, there wasn't much around to hit me. Trees on one side (no conkers) and a high wall on the other. No pot-holes to run over. Even now I have no idea where my would-be assassin was. I decided that to continue was perhaps better than not. The flight would leave without my friends if we didn't get there on time. Onward and upward, as they say.

A bridge too far for one man.
Strike 2 came as I approached this bridge. There were no cars in front, nor were there any cars behind. There was, however, a gentleman walking on the bridge. It was about 4.30am and he was carrying a drink. I assume that this drink wasn't his favourite tipple because, as I approached the bridge, he decided to throw the contents of it away. I was in the nearside lane so his desire to throw it onto the nearside lane seemed, at best malicious. But the fact that he also lobbed the glass made me think that he was a drunk with amazing eyesight who really didn't like me. As I didn't have time to react, the liquid (some type of lager judging by the smell that came into the cabin) hit the windscreen. The glass missed.

Now you're probably thinking that was a lucky escape. The car stunk like Oliver Reed's breath, it had a crack in the windscreen like the San Andreas fault and I needed to use my windscreen wipers. What could go wrong?

Well lots could go wrong but nothing did. I managed to deliver my passengers to the airport. They wished me a safe journey home. I know that we were wondering who the bringer of bad luck was. If it was me, their flight would be fine. If it was them, I assumed that a wing would fall off on the runway. All was to be revealed.

My journey home passed without incident. Until I got to the roundabout at the end of the M67.

As I entered the roundabout an Ambulance came flying across my path causing me to slam my brakes on. He had blue lights flashing, thus making it invincible. I was about 1 foot off hitting it. Thankfully my reactions were quick enough, having existed in a state of high anxiety since the adrenalin-inducing incident in Barnsley.

All bad things come in threes they say. So why did the Barn Owl try to smash into my windscreen as I drove through Darfield? It was about the width of a feather away from doing what 80 miles of driving hadn't achieved.

I can only assume that the gods had been angered by me at some point. I arrived home and went to bed.

In the corner of the bedroom a sat a spider.