People don't drive in Britain, they queue. It's always been thus and, as it is written in the Old Testament or Highway Code or Fly Fishing by JR Hartley, it shall always be so. But today that could all change, as The Confederation of British Industry have proposed road charging and tolls to un-clog some of our busiest roads.

Yet surely queuing is a British pastime, right up there with complaining, abusive tweets and phone hacking. If the roads were suddenly uncluttered what would we have to talk about when we arrive at our destination? We'd need brand new excuses for running late. Like this one, for example…

INT. TOM'S DINNER PARTY (NIGHT)

Jack and Jill arrive at the party.

Jill: Sorry we're late.

Tom: Bad traffic on the M3?

Jack: No, we stopped in a layby to make love.

Jill: Twice.

[Uncomfortable silence]

Tom: Drink anyone?

Over the years, scientists have created all manner of weird and wonderful inventions tailor-made to beat the queues, such as walking, running and cycling, but personally, I like to avoid the traffic in the following way. First, I tie 3,000 helium balloons to my belt and float up into the sky. I then use a system of fans to ensure I stay in the same spot in the sky. I then wait for the earth to revolve beneath me before popping the balloons one by one so I land safely in my destination which has handily now come to me

That's how I get to and from work each day. Ok, so it takes 7 hours and I have to leave home at 2am but it sure beats queuing behind one of those annoying people that leaves a car-sized gap between them and the car in front.

Rather than undertake a traditional vox pop (which is Latin for ‘voice of the unwashed’) to gauge people’s opinion on the proposed road charges, I decided that actions speak louder than words and set up my own toll on the road outside Daily Slap HQ. It was a roaring success, if I say so myself, and I raised enough money to pay for that body part enlargement procedure I’ve had my eye on. By the way, a cat had the tenacity to cross our road without paying the toll. It claimed to have forgotten its wallet so instead of cash, I took one of its lives.

Anyway, I’d better be off. The work experience slave has just told me (by email, he’s not allowed to speak unless spoken to) that my helium balloons are inflated and ready for my commute home. In just seven queue-free hours I’ll be in bed. Enjoy queuing, suckers.

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