This may seem an unlikely subject to write about, but brace yourself for an impassioned review. I am not going to tell you how lovely and quaint Sonning Bridge is. I will not suggest that you go and see it. I want it REPLACED WITH A MOTORWAY.

When The Boyfriend first asked me out in his sweet shy way, he suggested going to the cinema (he has however, refused to go since.). He picked me up on a warm September evening and we went on a twilight drive to our nearest cinema some way away.

The route to the cinema passes through Sonning, a beautifully unspoilt village with multi-million pound houses and the Thames breathing life in to it, much as it does with every village around here. At one point the river twists through dangling willows and around the mediaeval buildings and the width and speed of it is breathtakingly beautiful. The curves in the road give a secluded feel as though you are the only person in a sleepy oil painting.

The road was quiet and as we came to the little humpback bridge, he sped up over the bump, making us both feel giddy. We laughed together about childhood memories of our parents doing the same thing and how we still loved it, it was the perfect ice breaker.

How lovely that I was able to experience the beauty of Sonning in the light of shift work. I certainly don’t feel the same way about it now. This morning, as I do every morning since starting my new job, I sat in the gloomy winter half light at dawn mesmerised by the red glow of hundreds of tail-lights. What should theoretically be a fifteen minute drive to my new job is an ordeal, usually lasting well over an hour as hundreds of commuters compete to cross that single lane bridge.

The road leading in to Sonning has nothing to offer in terms of view, the sparse winter hedgerow straggles along, almost blocking the light until the first glimpse of the unsightly Sonning Works. The only sight to break this monotony is the long term landmark of the half eaten deer carcass which we aim to pass by 7.36am on a good day.

I use the time wisely, making sure to fully apply my makeup and trying to keep The Boyfriend in good spirits but the journey is certainly taking its toll. The queue for the bridge begins way back on the Henley Road where vans and cars jostle and thump their horns in an attempt to get there first. The inadequate traffic measures encourage people to drive on the wrong side of the road and cut up other cars, use the wrong lane on the roundabout to cut in and generally generate ill feeling.

On Friday as I endured the return trip from work, The Boyfriend was enacting his usual dramatics. He whacked the wheel in exasperation and slid back in the seat to find me eyeing him curiously. “What?” he demanded. I explained that I was wondering if he shouted at traffic when I wasn’t in the van. “If anything, darling, I do it more” he answered, white van man to the core.

By far the most annoying thing is a turning halfway between Playhatch roundabout and The French Horn. Every morning, a seemingly endless line of cars appears there – they are all attempting to queue jump by taking the other turning back at the roundabout and cutting into the line just before Sonning Farm. Were it not for these jumped up road-cheats and the idiots who let them out of the turning, everyone would get through a lot quicker. Last week, a man driving a silver space wagon (you know who you are) let out seven – yes, seven- vehicles. Why? Why would anyone do that? Fair enough one, but seven is beyond the actions of a good Samaritan,

I feel like getting out of the car, walking up the line and rapping on the windows of the people who do this. We’re all going to be there a while and I’d like to tell them why that is. Instead, I sit there devising ways to alert others to the queue jumpers or possibly block the turning somehow. I expend an enormous amount of mental energy on the problem of Sonning traffic and this is exactly why I feel the need to share it.

I remember one breezy October half term. The grass in the churchyard at Sonning was long and wet and my little brother and I were looking for Dick Turpins grave. Dad told us the story of the highwayman and was patient enough to let us jump from side to side on Sonning Bridge shouting “now I’m in Berkshire, now I’m in Oxfordshire.”
It is exactly this border that causes the problem. Were it in Berkshire, Reading Borough Council would have exercised their policy of demolishing anything old, attractive or potentially interesting (Canon Cinema? The Boars Head? Gun Street? Probably the Abbey Ruins next.)

The Bridge is Grade 2 listed, yet every day it carries an enormous amount of traffic. Anyone who lives in Reading and needs to get to Wokingham, Reading University, the A4 to London, the M4, Heathrow Airport, Winnersh, or Oracle offices is forced to use that bridge. Not to mention all the traffic from the opposite direction heading for Caversham, the Richfield Avenue and Loverock Road industrial estates, central Reading, Henley, Sonning Common and surrounding villages. This is surely resulting in damage to the ‘lovely’ listed bridge?

I can’t understand why house prices in Sonning remain unaffected by the traffic. These houses cost millions of pounds. Granted, Sonning is one of the few villages that isn’t straining under the addition of a hideous council estate, but what good is that if you can’t pull out of your driveway or get home in the evening?

Now, in order to get everyone on side, including those who live in Sonning, let me take clarify my earlier remark about the motorway. Rather than put it straight through the village, lets have a big bridge by the gravel pits and a nice straight road between Sonning Lane and Playhatch roundabout. At the very least, the road markings need to be sorted out and the turning blocked.

Simplistic, but sometimes those ideas are the best. And they do serve the purpose of making my review constructive as opposed to the rant this could easily turn into.