Where Eagles dare

It could not have got worse, until it did. Blundering through the murk in the Range Rover, wipers on max, I saw a large yellow sign at the side of the road, its message unambiguous to even the most optimistic of punters. ‘Road Closed’ it announced in stentorian tones. For what we planned to do that day, nothing but the best road in South Wales would do, and it was shut.

Parked next to the barriers sat two Eagle E-Types, visions of the rarest beauty, cars that wouldn’t merely benefit from the type of road we’d brought them to, but absolutely insisted upon it.

But maybe, just maybe, if we went and had a little chat… And the chap in the van had an interesting story to tell: yes the road was closed, but the best part of 10 miles away, and so long as we stayed on that road, we could trundle up and down. All day long. And almost as the words were leaving his lips, the clouds lifted, then lightened, then split apart. I don’t go a bundle on religion, but if there were ever a moment to make me wonder, it would look something like this.