Thank you for the comments regarding the recent launch of Don Your Way.
Daring to pen something slightly controversial about your hometown can always provoke extreme reactions, so I wasn’t entirely surprised that a few cages were rattled and feathers ruffled by my words.
However, there were also plenty of positives too - which is just how it should be. Lively debate where both sides can get involved. Keep it coming - I’m here to listen to all sides, even though we won’t always see eye to eye.
But enough. Onwards and upwards into this week’s musings.
And it is an issue which has troubled me, and no doubt many others, for years - especially anyone who has set foot behind the wheel of their car.
Driving in Doncaster can be an arduous and frustrating task - and one that seems to be getting more difficult as the years go on.
And that’s because I can honestly say I’ve never seen a town with as many traffic lights, roundabouts and other measures which seem intent on ensuring the town’s business on the roads is conducted as slowly as possible.
Take for instance York Road. It is littered with lights, all the way from the A1(M) to the town centre. Wheatley Hall Road is just exactly the same. And if you hit one red, you can guarantee you’ll then land on reds all the way down.
Absolutely nailed on fun for all the family.
To add to the joy, the Clay Lane end of Wheatley Hall Road has more roundabouts than a night out with Dougal and Zebedee. There’s at least five in one tiny patch of town.
And all this does is to create jams, backlogs and frustrated drivers crawling slowly along, beeping their horns and getting thoroughly wazzed off in frustration at it all.
Yes, I realise traffic has to move safely and steadily - but is there really any need for lights to flick to red, even when there’s nothing else on the road?
I recall returning very late into Doncaster one Saturday evening after a concert and doing my best to hurtle home along Wheatley Hall Road at 2am, only to be met by more reds than the annual Manchester United Fans For Jeremy Corbyn Dinner Dance.
There wasn’t another soul on the road.
Yet my journey was hampered by the lights annoyingly flicking to rouge as I approached. It was almost like a devil was inside the workings, thinking “I’ll show you sonny.”
Either that or Benny Hill meddling with wires in The Italian Job.
Perhaps some council type could tell me why Doncaster has more lights and roundabouts than other towns. It probably doesn’t. But just seems that it does.
If anyone wants me, I’ll be sat with the engine idling behind a lorry near the House Martin, twiddling my thumbs and gnashing my teeth.
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