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A Postman came a-knockin’ one summer day, and he brought with him a box with much bountiful content, sent from far overseas. Florida, to be precise. But what could be in a package from FLA that I could possibly want? Well, a glance overhead at the gathered stormclouds and a rapidly blurring horizon sowed the hope that, perhaps, I’d been sent some decent weather.

The postage description is entered as “Book”, which makes you think that maybe we’re looking at a consignment of car literature. But, when have I ever indicated any interest in that sort of thing? Oh, right.

It made its way across the Atlantic in less than a fortnight, costing somebody $38.95 in postage. It weighs three pounds and thirteen ounces and is unquestionably among the finest things I have ever received in an unsolicited parcel.

Make the jump to see what magnificence is contained herein.

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To give you a clue, it’s actually a road sign. Of course, we have to question here its origin, bearing in mind that this is/was, an important declaration intended to warn motorists of impending difficulties on the route immediately ahead, only it’s now, like, missing. Somewhere on some dusty American road there are cars sitting there, their drivers utterly confused as to why they’re not moving anywhere, or what those people are doing in the road in front of them.

We have to assume that this particular sign was legitimately procured. Perhaps it was subject to a federal destruction order when it was found not to be Millennium compliant. Perhaps the particular orange/red dayglo hue of this example was found to have a reflective index so high as to cause instant retinal failure, thus rendering it unsafe. Maybe it was actually blown clean from its tether, landing in such a place as to cause a hazard, to children for instance, and was handed in to the authorities by a responsible citizen only to go unclaimed. Thus, finders; keepers.

Maybe this one was never actually used on the State Highways. It could have been an experimental technology demonstrator that was deemed waaaay too radical. Actually, maybe during testing the reflective finish was found to be severely radioactive, and the safest way to get it the hell out of Florida was to put it on a plane and send it to Mistley, Essex.

Or maybe somebody just thought “I know who’d appreciate this” and brazenly just stole it from the roadside. Nobody will ever know for sure, we can only guess.

Behold:

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Of course, If you type “roadworkuk.com” into your address bar you’ll be delivered straight to a site proclaiming “This domain has been parked”. Or, if you prefix it with “www” you’ll be transported to my own website, which you will find a completely futile experience as I hardly ever update it these days. But the point is it’s called RoadworkUK, and my new international acquisition suits that rather well.

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And so who is the anonymous benefactor who financed the misappropriation of Uncle Sams’ street furniture? Well, I’m no psychologist, but if I was trying to put a profile together I would deduce the following. Firstly, he lives in the Sunshine State, either that or he’s from Illinois and absolutely hates mailing things locally. Secondly, for his spur-of-the-moment decision to send this treasured artifact, completely without prompting, and at his own expense, we might extrapolate that he enjoys visiting exciting, noisy local events. Motorsport, maybe. Perhaps in Daytona?

And, to be practical enough to even consider stopping, walking over to an obviously abandoned, unwanted, possibly even hazardous item and moving it safely out of harms way, we could assume that he’s the kind of guy who enjoys cars of a utility-friendly nature. Maybe boxy ones. Maybe ones with extended rooflines.

Whoever he is, and anonymous he must remain, he’s very obviously a legend. Cheers John.