Ian MacMillan: Thumbs up for a crate Yorkshire journey

Well, they may all be Great Yorkshire Journeys but my most memorable recent Yorkshire trip was the one I call the Blue Plastic Milk Crate Odyssey. Yes, I realise that’s not got the same romantic ring as The Old Silk Road, but hey ho. A few weeks ago I rumbled into Sheffield station after a few days away and because the doors wouldn’t open on my train I missed my connection to The Celestial City – or Barnsley as it’s sometimes known. I was desperate to get home so I did something indulgent and daft: I got a taxi. I jumped in and shouted “Darfield!” and the driver put his thumb up and off we went.

As we passed Hillsborough I noticed a big blue plastic milk crate in the road. It had probably tumbled from a milkfloat. I reasoned that the driver would swerve to avoid it, or slow down past it or even stop, pick it up and deposit it at the side of the A61. He did no such thing: he drove over it. There was a thumpy-bumpy noise and I looked out of the back window expecting to see a two-dimensional version of a milk crate but I saw nothing and the thumpy-bumpy noise continued, louder this time, joined by a crashy-thrashy noise and occasionally by an ominous bangy-boomy-scrapy noise. We were dragging the milk crate along under the taxi and although I couldn’t see them I imagined blue plastic sparks flying up in the air and the milk crate beginning to melt like the nose-cone of a rocket re-entering the earth’s atmosphere. I shouted to the driver “I think you’ve got a blue plastic milk crate stuck under your taxi!” and I reflected that although I’m 55 years old and I’ve seen and done lots of things I’ve never said that particular sentence before. The driver just put his thumb up again. It seemed to be his multi-purpose gesture.

As we carried on up the road people began to notice the milk crate. A bloke walking a dog pointed with his stick. Two kids on bikes gestured and laughed. As we approached a bus stop, a smartly-dressed woman stepped forward and performed an elaborate mime for us, the gist of which was that we’d got a blue plastic milk crate stuck under our taxi. Yes, she was a heck of a mime artist. The driver put his thumb up.

On the fast bit of the road as you approach the Stocksbridge Bypass the driver accelerated and the noise became almost unbearable. It was like sitting in a small plane as it labours to take off in a high wind. I began to harbour thoughts that these might be my last few minutes on earth. I imagined the headline in the Yorkshire Post: Semi-Popular Columnist in Blue Plastic Milk Crate Horror.

Then we screeched to a halt at the roundabout and the milk crate dislodged itself and skittered into the side of the road. The driver put his thumb up. So did I!