Magic Roundabout

The other day I drove from Falmouth on Cornwall's south coast, to Davidstow in the far north. It's a pleasant journey if you're not in a great rush, like many road-trips across the Duchy. The drive was uneventful, except for one disturbing theme.

Roundabout issues. Not the drivers whose indicators I always assume have unfortunately become broken. Nor the after-you, hesitation-waltz we have to endure from countless confused tourists round these parts. But everywhere, workmen.

On four separate roundabouts along the journey, I noticed gangs of labourers. You're supposed to, which is why they wear hi-vis apparel. But what were they doing there? Just slouching around of course, amid piles of unused barriers protecting nothing, surrounded by daffodil-yellow trucks.

But why were they there at all? The job of work, it seemed, was planting flowers and shrubs, raking gravel, doing a bit of weeding, all very slowly. Can't have our roundabouts looking tawdry.

I assume all this type of work is sponsored by the private sector. I'd hate to think that in these austere times our local councils are squandering public money on such activities.