White van man

I've spent much of the last 48 hours in unfamiliar territory as a white van man, scourge of the streets. I was helping my sister move a load of office furniture between Ripon and Middlesbrough and, as part of my role, got to hire my first ever van. Quite a milestone. I think it's what it must be like to find yourself placed in alien situations and filmed for the purposes of a television programme, like that time Michael Portillo just about looked after a family of Liverpudlian children for the BBC, or an episode of 'Faking It'. I wasn't actually filmed, but when alone I quite often pretend I'm the subject of a documentary anyway, so I just did that again:

"Paddy is driving northbound on the A19. It's twenty-five minutes since he left Ripon and around twenty minutes until he's scheduled to arrive in Middlesbrough. Although everything seems to be going smoothly with the van, he still has a few reservations about this way of life..."

I'm not sure if I was a convincing white van man. Of course, the stereotype is that these characters charge up and down our road network, leaning out windows shouting "oi oi!" for no apparent reason, resting a forearm on their van roofs while stationary at traffic lights, constantly rearranging their crotch, and giving free advertising to the Daily Star by leaving a copy on the dashboard. I tried my best to live up to the role, but failed miserably. Where normally you'd see a particularly robust-looking set of female breasts pressed against the windscreen thanks to Page 3 of the Daily Star, today my van featured a neatly-folded copy of The Independent left open on an article about what some regard as the potentially harmful effects of increasing the availability of the international baccalaureate in our country's sixth-forms. Honk honk. Furthermore I kept the windows wound up at all times, sang along to a Kate Bush CD I'd taken with me, adhered to all national speed limits, remained within the designated lines at either side of my lane, and allowed my crotch to sit unaltered. I almost considered pulling into one of those roadside Portakabin cafes and ordering a mug of tea for 30p, but decided against it for fear of feeling misunderstood by the other drivers.

"Paddy is taking a well deserved break after lumbering a seemingly ceaseless amount of Ikea furniture up a staircase. After a day spent living a life he never imagined he would live, he insists he's found the experience a worthwhile one..."