Bunning, Jackie tells me, is the term given for heavy commercial vehicles lacking the requisite acceleration yet trying to pass others on the inside lane of a motorway. When attempting this from the middle lane it can take several minutes for one to lumber past. Those on the inside are generally not prepared to give an inch. This is apparently one cause of the standing waves that can cause a disruption to the flow of traffic. 
We were subjected to an instance of such a snail’s race on the M27 this morning as she drove me to Southampton Parkway. I wondered whether the unladen car transporter would have tried his luck had he had a load on board.
In order to turn off for the station we have to filter off from the inside lane. Sometimes these vehicles obscure the sign, so, in the past, we have missed the turn. When we know we are near it we must keep behind the marginally slower moving truck. Overtaking the pair of them risks overshooting the exit, which is not want you want to do when you are aiming to catch a train. Fortunately we now have it sussed.
Today I began reading ‘Carthage. A History’, by Serge Lancel.
From Waterloo I took the Jubilee Line to Neasden, where posters advertising George Irvin’s Funfair invited visitors to celebrate Eid (see post of 15th August last year) demonstrating how London’s culture has changed since the 1950s when I attended such attractions. 
This progression is reinforced by the immigrants from across the globe converging on Church Road market in search of bargains.
The depot of William Fry’s scrap metal recycling centre, so often the source of ocular irritation from swirling dust, on this fine day looked almost attractive.
In the Borough of Brent it is still possible to pay for parking if you have the correct coins but no mobile phone. The City of Westminster, for example in Sutherland Place, assumes all drivers wishing to use the meters do carry such devices. Coins are not accepted. Mind you, in Brent it is not only cars that are parked by the roadside.
A thriving carwash service is offered at the Harvest garage in Neasden Lane. Today, as often, there was a queue, which sometimes causes a little congestion and consequent clamouring of car horns.
Chancel House, diagonally across the road, has its own variation on the cattle grid, ensuring that cars do not enter by the exit. 
As vehicles leave the car park which is protected by an electrified gate, their wheels depress the teeth waiting to spike any tyres attempting to cross them from the other direction.
Norman served up a luscious lamb shank followed by a sponge with a pineapple base, accompanied by an excellent Portuguese red wine.
From his flat I took my usual route to Carol’s, and after visiting her, boarded the frequent 507 bus to Waterloo. Thence by train to Southampton where my lady awaited me in the car.
