peter's prang

making progress

• On Saturday and Sunday mornings we have walked along to the corner shop to buy the weekend newspapers. The first weekend he couldn't manage to carry a bag with the papers and a bottle of milk. Last weekend and the weekend before he has managed to go on his own on three occasions.
• Last week Peter tried out working again, redoing a translation he did some months ago as a test piece, to see whether he could manage physically, sitting in an upright chair, and how he'd manage intellectually. He then checked against his original translation. Phew, it was fine! So this week he's done a translation for a client and H, our administrator, has contacted all Peter's clients to say he'll be working part time.
• Yesterday afternoon Peter drove the Focus for the first time and managed fine (apart from a couple of lapses of attention!) We went out to the Blacksmith's cafe at belsay and had afternoon tea. He didn't find it alarming to be driving again. I was the one who was anxious!

a month at home

Peter's continuing to mend but it's taking time. The three broken ribs are overlapping rather than abutting so they'll take about twice as long to mend as we expected at first. Peter has continued to have to sleep sitting up in bed, until last night (24th February), when he was able to sleep lying down for the first time!

The last couple of weeks have been emotionally draining as he's had to make statements to the police and we've both had to make statements for and talk to solicitors and the insurance company. This has meant reliving the accident which has been very upsetting.

Peter continues to get very upset at items on the news or anything violent on television. We are both extremely tired. I feel anxious when I have to leave him. I think this harks back to me calling for him after the second impact and, on the second night, being told I had to leave the hospital. I know he's safe if I can see him, which reassures me.

turning the blog on its head

I've changed this so that the top post is the latest (the timing of posts is earliest at the bottom, working up)

day 25: january 21 - back to the doctors'

Drove home yesterday but we won't be up to speed with everything for a while yet - went to doctors' this morning and Peter needs more emergency chest xrays and shoulderblade too, which may be broken, maybe he has another pneumothorax, maybe problems from painkillers affecting his kidneys and possible torn muscles - so we are off to our local hospital this afternoon. He's going to take a while to mend, poor thing.

Update at 5pm:

Phew, it isn't another pneumothorax. And the swelling near his shoulderblade is because one of the broken ribs has moved. So he doesn't need to be admitted to hospital. We can wait for blood tests etc until the beginning of next week.

day 9: wednesday 5th january - off to norfolk - the journey from hell

Much to-ing and fro-ing with the courtesy car company...they have a car, no they don't, they have an automatic people carrier, will it do? Yes, if that's the best they can find, yes, please! Peter is dubious but I've agreed.

Next, the Mersea tide situation to negotiate. The tide will be over, so they can't come until after high tide. They arrive mid-afternoon and I spend time producing all the correct documentation. I'm obviously still in shock as I keep taking out the wrong bits of paper. Then I have to remember what to ask...all the things one needs to know like where is the very fancy handbrake, lights, indicators, petrol (oh, it's diesel) and which side do you fill it, how do you unlock it, move the seats?

Once sorted, we load up, thank Janet profusely and set off. Driving a strange car is always challenging. And Peter doesn't want me to drive faster than 50. He's in considerable pain. And anxious. By the time we reach Ipswich it's getting dark, it's raining, the screen is greasy, it's rush hour...and as we set off up to Thetford I can barely see and everybody's rushing to get past. I'm timid, seeing every other car as a misile...because that's what they can be! And I have a rather aggrieved train of cars behind me - everyone knows the road and just wants to get home! Then Peter becomes very sick. I'm on a pitch black section of road and he is vomitting out of the car window. I pull into a farm driveway and find a bucket in the back, chucking all the bits and pieces out onto the floor and giving it to Peter. He'll travel onwards with it on his knee. Hard to pull out into the steady and speedy travic. By the time we reach Linda's Peter is in poor shape. But so relieved to be there.

Linda gives me her room so I can have all our belongings there. She has a folding mattress in her hobby room and Peter, the sofa or armchair in the living room.

day 8: tuesday 4th january - drying, not moving and then moving

I phone about the coertesy car. They still haven't located a 4WD automatic...4WD because Peter is sure it will be more comfortable and automatic because although quite calm and unflapped, I know that I must still be in shock because my thinking is even slower than usual and gears would be one step too many. Leter they tell me they've found a car but it's beyond Stanstead and they don't have anyone to collect and deliver it.

I make a big pot of lentil and pasta soup, which Peter enjoys.

No chance of the car today. We really need to move on. I've ascertained that Linda )peter's sister in Norfolk) will be delighted to have us but we can't get there. Janet comes over and asks Kathy, who's back from studying and aromatherapy, if it's OK for us to go to her's. It is. I finish packing, strip the beds and we go over with the first laod of our stuff to her bungalow, then back for the remainder and Peter.

We settle Peter and take Bobby, the lovely, bouncy and enthusiastic cockapoo, to Janet's son James', do some food shopping and collect the remainder of the washing from Mum's. Peter is very emotional...Sami the Maine Coon (who looks like a bigger, posher version of our lovely Tashi), cheers him up somewhat. We spend a peaceful eveing after supper.

day 7: washing, the art cafe

I do some washing at Kathy's and hang it in the room I'm in, whch is where the washing usually hangs. I take a load to Mum's, too, as it will dry quickly there. (Kathy drives me as she's on her way to Dougal's cottage at East Mersea so she can read). I take Mum across  to the Art Cafe for coffee and cheese scones - not the amount of time I intended spending with her as she was one of the main reasons we travelled south for Christmas in the first place. She's able to choose a wonderful calender of traditional boats for Peter and I buy calendars for Linda, Kathy and myself.

Back to her flat and I hang the washing...then walk back to Kathy's, which takes about 20 minutes. Make Peter a cheese omelette for lunch. We read during the afternoon.

In the evening I give Dougal and Kathy their presents. They repair upstairs so that they can watch TV up there, so Peter can sleep on the sofa again.

day 6: 2nd january - getting our stuff

I've been able to amass enough information to be acceptable as the owner of the Shogun, having spoken to someone of more senior standing than the first, who wanted the documents that are filed away in Newcastle.

Kathy and I drive to get them, stopping on the way over so that we can fill Dougal's car with petron - that being bigger than Kathy's car. When we arrive, they take a letter from the hospital, which is addressed to Elspeth Sujatin Johnson,  and one of my business cards which just uses my Buddhist name - I tell them they can look at the website to see a photo to check that it's me. They also note my driving license, credit card etc.

Lots to load into Dougal's car. I'm reminded to take road tax disc and parking permit but leave radio. I video our car. I'm horrified by some of the sights we see and by their confirmation that Peter was lucky to be alive.

Kathy's able to take her SatNav to be reset nearby. Then I take her for a quick lunch and some food shopping. Next, back to Colchester for her to search for a hot water bottle (unsuccessful) and electric blanket (after a long search - successful). She is in 'preparing for CAT' mode and, having planned a quiet week of studying and getting ready for her stay in Wales for her next unit, is finding having us in the house stressful as she wants to read and to have her home straight again. This is difficult emotionally - I'm managing to keep myself together but am still in shock and have no means to travel onward. We don't want to impose and I feel helpless.

When we get home Peter is in tears - he thinks we have had another accident.

Having spent 2 nights supposedly in bed but finding it so uncomfortable that he spends much of the night walking up and down, Peter opts to spend the night on the sofa.

day 5: new year's day

Slept well, however Peter didn't. Dougal has gone to work and will bring Mum over at lunchtime. Janet invited by text.

Rachel, Mark, Iz and Lucy arrive, bearing pizzas and pre-baked pototoes for lunch.

I'm on the phone to Janet and Kathy's friend Baco, who wants the lowdown on the car/accident situation. Mum, Dougal and Janet arrive.

We have lunch and exchange some of the Christmas and birthday presents. By mid afternoon Mum has stayed too long for comfort so Janet takes her home. Peter has stayed up too long too, so goes back to bed in the study where he is able to rest and doze. Kathy, Rachel, Mark and Lucy go for a walk and I spend time talking to Iz.

Rachel et al have a quick supper and off they go. Peter has an early night although I later find that he won't sleep.

days 18 - 23: friday 14 - wednesday 19

Day 18: Friday January 14
Peter feeling somewhat improved in the morning but abdominal pain in the afternoon.

Days 19 and 20: Saturday January 15 and Sunday January 16
As day 18. On Sunday Peter takes a short walk for aprox 150 yards up the road. Very slow. Noticeably agitated and gets right up the verge whenever he realises a car is coming.

Day 21: Monday 17 January
Peter still has abdominal pain. The glands in my neck are up (continues on 18 and 19).

Day 22: Tuesday 18 January
Overnight Peter has developed sharp pain when he breathes in - R chest, to R of nipple. Started at 2am, improved then got worse throughout the day. Chest tender to touch. He's in very low spirits.

Day 23: Wednesday 19 January
Pain in abdomen has gone. Pain in chest somewhat less than yesterday and he slept better (still sleeping sitting in armchair). However not well enough for the journey home.

day 4: friday 31 december - we get him out, but it takes time

Day 4: Friday 31 December: Peter phones in the morning to say he is being discharged. Kathy and I go shopping for clothes in the new Sainsbury's (underwear, socks, teeshirts for us both and a fleece top for Peter) as, apart from the things we stand up (or lie down) in, all our belongings are still in the Shogun on the locked reclamation garage in Braintree. I also buy 2 fleece throws - these are going to come in more handy than I realise.  I'm concerned that we are going to be late to collect him but waiting for drain removal and stitching, prescriptions, assessment by the houseman and further prescriptions, which take an age to arrive from the pharmacy, we don't manage to leave until after 6. Long sitting and waiting in limbo. Finally, a careful, but painful, drive back to Mersea.

Dougal makes a dish for tomorrow's family visitors - a goulash or something similar, I think. Kathy and Dougal don their glad rags and go next door for a New Year's Eve party. We are invited, which is kind, but rather out of the question so we decline. Tuck Peter up in Kathy's office and stay up to console Monty, the terrier, who is terrified of the fireworks.  Dougal and Kathy come home before midnight, realising that Monty would be in a state, and we watch in the New Year with Jools Holland.

day 15: 11 january - the final stitch removal

Peter and I drove into Swaffham (and I'm getting very good at finding my way around) and I bought more knitting wool while Peter chose some second hand books from the lovely little bookshop next door. Then off to the surgery where, I'm glad to say, the remainder of his stitches came out - yes, I agree with a nurse, they did look like a spider when she put them onto the tissue.

She told Peter that, although the surface of his chest was healing, there's a lot of internal healing to do and it will take quite some time. Also that he's still in shock so the fact that he is quite weepy is to be expected.

Then I left Peter in the car in the Market Square while I picked up some Goji Berries (for us and for Kathy U) from the health food store, then Waitrose on the way home for more yoghurt. They do Goji Berries, too but I found them in the baking section....not what you'd expect.

Peter has a very limited appetite and doesn't fancy much. More boxes of Chocolate Complan - so much nicer than the plain stuff which looks, and probably tastes, like wallpaper paste.

Made a macaroni cheese for supper - Peter didn't enjoy it :-(

day 10 - 6 january - stitches part 1

A nurse tried, with advice from another, to take out the huge black stitches (more like carpet thread than sewing!) that closed the hole where the drain from Peter's chest had been. Purse string stitches, apparently! He was still swollen round the wound so only some of the stitches could be removed.

days 16 and 17: 12/13 january - a setback

Days 16 and 17: emailed the family, my sangha and friends thus:

Poor old Peter has had a bit of a setback. Very swollen feet and ankles the past couple of days (which I noticed when, as a dutiful wife, I washed his feet yesterday afternoon) and pains in his abdomen - we went to the doctor yesterday evening. It looks as though the medication has affected his stomach so he's been put on mega co-codamol, so we hope the intestinal pains will subside soon.
 
He still has to sleep in an armchair - as the rib fractures are at the back, he can't lie down. His friend Gayre, who had a RTA a few years ago, phoned from Australia and confirmed the 'ribs take 6 weeks to heal' that we had previously been told. Peter is concerned about the journey home - naturally. The journey here was horrible for him and the sit in the doc's waiting room yesterday has set him back. So here we will stay and I don't know how long for. We can't wait 6 weeks! The journey will be no fun at all but we'll need him to be somewhat more recovered before we set off. Linda is being fab and is so kind.
 
I'm keeping the Swaffham woolshop in business - already making things for Christmas 2011 'Samaritan's Purse' shoeboxes. Also the bookshop next door to it has second hand books. Have cancelled everything at the universities and am doing the other things I need via iphone (o2 is completely rubbish!) and by short sorties onto Linda's computer where the broadband is excruciatingly slow.

on days 2 and 3: getting up and shuffling

On Day 2 the physiotherapist had made Peter stand and walk. Just a few steps towards the door and Peter was vomitting. They're checking as to how soon to discharge him - don't let you hang about as they need these acute beds. By Day 3 he could get just past the nurses' station.

day 3, 30/12/10

Wake and phone Peter, then take a long shower. There's a bar of soap!This seems like a great treasure.

Breakfast of another sandwhich and two cups of coffee. Phone Kathy who is coming over late morning.

Spend the morning on the phone - fortunately there's an o2 mobile signal.

Spend over an hour talking to the insurance company as there are two forms to be filled in (as we were hit twice, there are two claims). But Peter will have to authorise me to act on his behalf as the policy is in his name. Like everybody I talk to (apart from last night's ward manager...and the consultant) there is so much kindness and concern at our predicament.

Contact the vehicle reclamation company. A description of our car plus time and place of accident are not enough for them to confirm which of their branches the car is at. Have to phone the police to find out the registration number of the car - it's the one Peter normally drives. I don't know the number. I have called Peter and he doesn't remember either. This is not surprising as he's in shock as well as pain and was hit on the head (Hair plaited to close the wound - the alternative would have been superglue!). Call reclamation people again. Yes the car is  in Braintree. No, I can't go to collect our belongings unless I can prove I am the legal owner of the car. I can't. The log book is in a filing cabinet in Newcastle. Hmmm....

Kathy arrives. I should have checked out of the room. Rebecca, the kindly receptionist, lets us back in and furnishes us with more coffee and milk.

We set off to the hospital and visit Peter. He's looking a little, just a little, improved. He's managed to wash himself. He's still pale and looking old but his colour is a bit better. Less green. He wants to eat banana and nothing else.

Kathy and I walk to the old part of the hospital to find a meal and come back to the ward with yoghurt, rice pudding, smoothies and other things to tempt Peter to eat.

He's more unright and blood is draining into the container by the bed from his chest drain. I have told the physio, who doesn't seem concerned. However the housemen are, when they come round, and ask the registrar to take a look.

Eventually it's time to leave and Kathy drives us through the country lanes to Mersea. I am slightly less worried about leaving Peter than I was the night before.

It feels like a haven to reach Kathy's in Mersea.

day 2, 29/12/10

To say that we wake to the new day would be imply that we have slept. We haven't.

Peter continues to be monitored regularly. As through the night, he is on hourly liquid morphine if he needs it. He does. He is, and continues to be, a greyish green in the face. He doesn't want to eat. I'm grateful to have tea and cereal. I'm happy to drink many cups of  hsopital tea of a strength that I wouldn't normally contemplate.

I'm offered a towel and go to the loo cum wetroom for a shower...using the antiseptic handwash liquid as shampoo and shower gel. On with the vest again, but I have no other clothes.

Thee day passes...time has no meaning. Nurses and doctors come and go. Peter is reclining on his pillows and we alter the angle by using the raising and lowering controls on the side of the bed. (A husband one can contol by pressing buttons! - excellent!)

By mid afternoon I go in search of more food, and track down some sandwiches. Peter eats some bananas through the day. He can't fancy anything more substantial. Otherpeople are moved on from the ward to wards where they will be staying for longer. It's obvious that you don't get to hang around here.

We set up the over the bed telephone service - no mobile signal in the hospital - and I can talk to members of the family. Peter doesn't feel up to it. He looks very poorly and is in a lot of pain.

Visiting time in the afternoon and then in the evening. I'm hoping to stay another night by Peter's side. But there's a change of shift and a change of attitude. 9pm and I'm told I have to go. Peter is upset but, apparently, 'rules is rules'. I can't come back until visiting hour the following afternoon.

I don't know where I am and feel mentally very confused. I'm still in shock. A male nurse takes pity on me and suggests various hotels. He goes further along the corridor and turns on a computer to search for minicab firms. Would I like him to order one? Yes, please? He does, tells the taxi where I'm going and then tells me where the taxi will come to.

I've stashed most of our belongings into Peter's locker and set off through the deserted hospital to the car park. The taxi arrives and takes me to a Travelodge, where I take a room. I can't operate the card key - I've never stayed in a Travelodge before, so down I go to Reception again. The girl activates another key. It doesn't work so I have to take the lift down yet again. I feel desperate to be in a room...so tired. She comes with me this time. Ah, you have to put the card in and then take it out again before the door will open!

A basic (if expensive) room but it has all I need. I unwrap another sandwich, make some decaf coffee and spend a little time playing Bejewelled to take my mind off things before I fall asleep.

the evening of day 1, 28/12/10, continued: the ambulance to the bed

Eventually I'm allowed into the ambulance. The young ambulance driver is wearing a fawn hat with ears on the top - yes, she says, it's a Christmas present from her Mum. The paramedic who travels inside the ambulance, wiring Peter up and balancing constant checking of his stats with cheery banter, is the image of a young Ben Elton. We arrive some 15 minutes later at Broomfield Hospital.

I'm shown the door to the waiting room while Peter is wheeled in another door. I'm told that they'll fetch me when I can see Peter again. I sit there surrounded by misery...ill children, a wandering elderly lady, a woman moaning and keening in a wheelchair while her husband looks into thin air past her.

Time is starting to lose meaning. In hopital you have to surrender...you have no control as to what is going to happen or when.

Quite a bit later - 30, 40 minutes, maybe more - I'm ushered through the one way doors and taken to Peter who is in a cubicle. People come and go. Peter has to have a monor op so he is wheeled away. Off I go into the 'real world' to find a phone signal and contact some of the family to break the news or update them.

Peter has moved - now he's in the Resuscitation Unit. We are in the new, only open a month, wing of the Broomfiled and everything is sparkling and high tech. Doctor Aziz explains that Peter has a pneumothorax.  He has had a drain inserted to remove the air which is in the wrong part of his chest ie outside the left lung. His stats are monitored what seems like every quarter of an hour. His BP varies enormously from somewhat too high to well below 'normal'. He's very uncomfortable and keeps asking for a bed. But finding a bed in a ward and transfering him there will take some time. Besides, it's best that his condition becomes more stable first. I find a seat in another bay and settle in for a long wait.

Now we are on the move. It's 1:30 am, about 5 hours after the impact. Through deserted corridors with me following the bed, holding doors, trying not to get squashed in lifts.

Thw ward is pristine, with amazing beds that look as though they cost a fortune. We are in a little unit with four beds. Peter's settled in and his muddy clothes are removed. The force of his hitting the central reservation has pushed mud through jacket, fleece, jumper, shirt and through to his vest, which is speckled with tiny brown dots.

He's going to be monitored regularly throughout the night. By now it's 2:30 am. I'm offered a bed in another room but I want to stay close to Peter, Yes, I can stay beside him. I make myself a bed beside the wall...I borrow Peter's muddy and bloody - from the large grazes on the back of his hips - vest as I'm baking hot in a cashmere jumper. I fold the jumper and put it onto my knitting bag to make a pillow. I lie on my fluffy jacket and put my new shirt jacket over me. The floor feels very hard but I'm not going anywhere. We both doze, more off than on, through the night. 

into the ambulance

The large ambulance is parked some distance behind us. The paramedics collect Peter, put him onto a wheeled stretcher and take him to the ambulance.....I can only see this through the wing mirrors as I'm still in the passenger seat of the Shogun.

Time passes - I have no idea how much.

The policewoman suggests that I can go to the ambulance and asks whether I want to retrieve from the car before we leave. Hard to choose what to take.  I gather up Peter's jackets, my bag and jacket and, from my case, medication, my new padded shirt, a bag with books and my knitting bag. It's a lot to carry, it's heavy but, later, I'll be glad for this choice. There'll be other things I'll wish I had (hat, washbag.....), I have no idea when I'll see our belongings again.

But at the time, all I care about is Peter.

looking

Peter's worried about his driving glasses. I get out of the car and go back along the central reservation, searching. All I can find is one chipped lens on the road. Later someone hands me the twisted frame. They're still in a pocket in my bag. No sign of the second lens.

the cavalry arrive

The police drive up and our statements are taken by a young WPC. She's efficient and gentle. She brings me a piece of paper with her own details - name, number, station, phone number, plus the names and addresses of the two drivers and the registration numbers and makes of the two cars. She also gives me a card for the company who will recover our car. I'm relieved to have all these details, written clearly. I stow them in my purse. Although I have felt calm after the first few minutes, I'm sure I won't retain much information.

collecting the car

I'm jumping ahead here to what happened today - Kathy drove me to the Vehicle Recovery depot to look at our car and to unload everything in it - and there was a lot! Christmas presents received and not yet delivered, two suitcases, lots of Rachel's bedding which we were meant to give her yesterday, sleeping bag and travelling mattress, all the extra things that one takes on a journey when it may be snowy....

Our car looks barely touched, though the same can't be said of the car that crashed into us twice, the second time when shunted into and under us when hit by the third vehicle.

Apparently the recovery guy got into our car, turned the key, car started first time and he was able to drive it up onto the lorry, dragging car 2, still trapped under the rear, with it! Look at the relative damage.

 

and more flashing lights......

.....approaching on the other side of the road at a fair lick. Police. I expected their car to be with us moments later, but no. In the wing mirror I can see that about 50' behind us the police lights are flashing as they have stopped all the traffic on the north-bound carriageway.

Next, the Highways Agency people are marking off a length of our lane before and behind with traffic cones, then adding flashing lights to the tops of all the cones.  This feels safer. I have more confidence that we won't be driven into again. Also I'll be able to get out of the car.

flashing lights 1

Down the south-bound carriage way come flashing lights, passing us and then reappearing some minutes later. An estate car sized ambulance parks up in front of us and the first of the paramedics arrives to assess Peter, who is shaking uncontrollably. Peter is asked questions which I remember from our Kephalonian episode are designed to ascertain whether he has any brain damage - he is bleeding copiously from the left posterior top of his head. We try to wrap him up even more warmly. Peter is finding it both difficult and extremely painful to breathe.

the second silver bullet

A silver Focus has travelled towards both cars (and we stll have hazard warnings flashing), like the first car, having passed a couple of the lit signs warning of the accident ahead of us, brakes have jammed and it has skidded and hit the Clio .

But at this point all I know is that we've been hit again. And there's silence. I shout Peter's name repeatedly. No reply. I'm so frightened for him. Why isn't he answering?

I don't know whether to get out of the passenger seat, into possible oncoming traffic in the right-hand lane. Or whether to take off my seat belt and crawl across and out of the driver's side...risking the consequences if we are hit again.

Then a Highways Agency Serious Incident van passes us on the left, parking about 20 feet ahead of us. Presumably it was on the way to the accident ahead of us, as there hasn't been time for them to have been notifies about us.

Someone from the van appears at the driving side, supporting Peter. What relief! He had been knocked by the car behind us as the new arrival had shunted it into us. Not trapped between two cars, which would have killed him.

Peter is shivering violently as he is helped back into the driving seat - shock and cold. I find a fluffy jacket from behind the seat and wrap him up, then call the police and the ambulance.

the first silver bullet

Peter climbs from the car and walks back along the narrow central reservation to find that we have been struck in the rear by a silver Clio, the impact from which has pushed us forward a number of feet so there is a gap between vehicles (this gap is to prove signicicant).

Peter comes back to me and I find envelope and pencil so he can take the details of the car which struck us and the driver. Off he goes to do so, returns, takes my iphone to photograph the car.  I take my seatbelt off so I can pick up the satnav from the floor - then i replace the seatbelt. Then I phone Kathy to explain that we'll be a bit late for supper. By now it must be 3 minutes or more from the impact. Peter is standing at the edge of the central reservation to the side and behind our car and to the side and front of the Clio.

 

.....CRASH

 

Another car has crashed into the Clio, pushing it into our rear and jerking us forward again...

the journey begins...

Starting before the event: we travel safely and easily to Peter's sister, Linda, on Christmas Eve and then spend a lovely Christmas Day with her. Onwards to London on Boxing Day, taking a new route through London.

Tuesday 28th December....we are at Robin and Halina's, having had a happy day on the Monday with extended Brunning family. Time to leave, car packed to gunwhales, and we are delayed by a flat battery (I left the lights on after taking Simon home the evening before). Split second timing plays a part in all our lives, as does space. A moment here, a few inches there and all could be avoided...or so much worse.

We are travelling north, towards Colchester, on the A12. Light signs appear, warning us that there is an accident ahead, beyond the A130 junction. We see another sign, then a sign to tell us that we are approaching that junction. When the junction appears ahead of us we see tail lights of stationary vehicles and of others braking. We are in the right hand lane, others are driving in the left hand lane and many more, who presumably know the area, are peeling off to the A130. Peter brakes gently and comes to a stop, well behind the stationary cars ahead. He puts on the hazard warning lights.

 

........CRUNCH

 

An impact from behind. We are knocked forwards a few feet.