I hate potholes. We have plenty of them in my little corner of the UK, although the locals would argue the word "pothole" is incorrect (we prefer "craters", "fissures" or "canyons").
Now, many of you are thinking "so drive around them, you bellend" - and quite rightly so. Like many I driver, I prefer to adopt that strategy in lieu of edgier techniques, such as choosing to use a different road, or getting out of the car to yell at them, or moving house.
However, as you may know, in Blighty we are subjected to a fair degree of rain. This renders potholes indistinguishable from innocent puddles on the road - but EVEN THIS in and of itself is not necessarily a problem, as the regulars will have the locations of all potholes memorised anyway. No, my friends; it is when a new bastard pothole pops up that disaster strikes.
So on that note, this happened to my car the other day:
Both wheels on that side. Eugh. THANKS FOR NOTHING, EARTH.
There is an upside to my traversing the tarmac patchwork quilt that forms our road network, though:
Aww yeah! 123456 miles.
What a bittersweet week it has been.