This is as days pass by, by Stuart Langridge

The roads are chock-a-block, unmoving. The bus outside has moved about three hundred yards in the last half an hour. Everything is still, engines running but no-one going anywhere. I’m snowed in—or trafficed in, at least.
And I’m still at work.
Tonight was my birthday celebration at the Wolves LUG. Big curry and beer evening, lots of fun and laughter. As it is, I’ll be lucky to get there at all.
I hate everything.
Update: Still at work, 7.10pm. I’m not going to Wolverhampton. A woman outside in her car has apparently not moved for three and a half hours. Hate everything. Even more.
Update: 9.55pm. Still ice everywhere. Still traffic. Still here. Still.
Update: 10.55pm. And yet it continues. The traffic is moving. At about two miles an hour—a car is still taking ten minutes to cover a hundred yards, but this is better than the hour and a half it was taking before. Birmingham is clearly running out of cars to send out to get in my way. Drawing the acceleration on a graph, and assuming that the rate of change in the average velocity of cars passing the office is increasing exponentially, I reckon that by about half six tomorrow morning the cars will be doing the speed of light, so I can be home in well under a second and get an hour’s kip before returning to work. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.
Update: Left work 11.30pm. Arrived home 2.30am after a hellish, hellish journey. I don’t remember the last time I concentrated extremely hard on one thing and one thing only for three hours without a break. I may never have done it. Today: working from home.