During that sudden, savage snow-Fall at the beginning of April, a staff member had to make a journey to Derbyshire by way of the M1. In driving snow, a stop was made at a service area on the Leicester leg for a hot meal.
This turned out to be a mistake, for although the atmosphere within the restaurant was far less cheerless than that outside in the snow, the food provided—and not cheaply—was luke-warm, had obviously been standing for a while, and, the managing company apparently abandoning the niceties of crockery, was served on a floppy cardboard plate, with pliable plastic knife and fork. The plastic fork shattered, and a replacement bent. It seems that in yet another sphere we are being told what we want . . . .