Jonathan Dollimore

“As anyone who has broken down on the motorway will know, to stand at the side, waiting for rescue, is a revelation. Nothing better conveys the frictional violence of speed. Whatever impression you may get sitting inside a vehicle, cars don’t glide over roads. The sound of rubber on tarmac at speed is a scream which hits your ears a second before the wind turbulence knocks you off balance. And it’s seemingly unending, like the infinitely repeated punishments of hell. Lumps of rubber lie there too, remnants of collision or fatigue, the debris of life in the fast lane.”

On my way to kill myself one hot day in July 1991, I stopped to fill up with the petrol necessary to see the job through. An old woman with heavy shopping bags was trying to cross the road. She was staggering and in danger of being run down. I offered help. She asked me to call a taxi to take her home. There was no phone so I offered to take her myself. With difficulty I got her into the car....