Thruxton. Vroom vroom.
Stonehenge. Come over the hill and you almost miss it, until suddenly there it is on the skyline. As you descend, so does it, and you see that it’s swarming with human ants, who are eating its heart.
Deptford. Marlowe never came here, you think irrelevantly as you soar past the signpost.
Chicklade. An old joke about hens.
Mere. Don’t stop there for lunch. The only way out is via the carpark.
Wincanton. Tankers full of milk.
Ilminster. The strangest bypass in Britain.
And then it peters out, no ceremony, not even a place (the nearest is Upottery), just before Honiton, and turns into the A30. Which is a whole other story.