When the local council can't be arsed to tarmac a worn-out road, they chuck a load of gravel over it and let passing cars flatten the whole thing down.
This is good for the motor industry - cars get scratched and rust. Great for car owners - they get to try rally stunts around corners. But bad for cyclists, who get blasted by gravel every time a car passes (I mean, I'm all for exfoliation, but shot-blasting one's legs seems a little extreme.) Spend too long on the road, and your calves end up looking like something out of Clive Barker's Hellraiser films.
I have a vision that the discussion in the transport department goes thus:
(scene - a wood panelled room which was probably decorated in about 1945. Two portly, middle-aged men sit at a table, shuffling paper)
Mr. Farquar-Inbred-Johnson: "...jolly good, so we'll close the hospital and make the patients travel to Moscow for treatment. That should clear the waiting lists pretty sharpish. Next on the agenda, resurfacing the road."
Mr. Parker-Chinless-Wonder: "Ah yes, Mr. F. I had a wonderful money-saving idea for that."
Mr. F: "Indeed?"
Mr. P: "Indeed. My cousin has a skipload of gravel left over from the school he built for us"
Mr. F: "The one that fell down?"
Mr. P: "Thats the one. And rather than pay a road-builder £60,000 to tarmac it, he can just dump the stuff on the road for £59,999. A saving of £1."
Mr. F: "A wonderful idea! I trust your cousin will be extending his hospitality to the council as usual?"
Mr. P: "Of course. The used £50 notes will be provided in the usual brown envelope."
Mr. F: "Excellent" (presses a button on the desk) "Miss Smith, could you pop in here for a moment?"
Mr. P: "Tea?"
Mr. F: "No, after working so hard getting value for the taxpayers, I think I deserve a blowjob"
Not that I'm at all cynical about local government. Oh no. Not me.
