Jamming

When you're bowling along the North-South Highway at a sensational ten kilometres-an-hour in a sea of traffic the signs announcing the speed limit of a hundred and ten gaze down in distinct mockery. Mind you, that's a lot better than being stuck completely unmoving for periods of five to twenty-five minutes trying to clear Malaysian customs.

Our usual two-and-a-half hour journey from Melaka to Singapore yesterday turned into a six-and-a-half hour epic. Oddly enough, in the end I was pleased to have made it back to the doorstep before midnight as at one point I honestly thought it might turn out to be a three o'clock in the morning job.

What odd version of chaos theory determines the nature of movement in these jams? Part of the misery is the sense of not having a clue as to what is going on and having to calm the rising panic that you'll be stuck in no man's land for ever. The one bright spot in all this? At least I'm stuck with the missus, my favourite company in any emergency.