THE advice on avoiding the A1 at Leeming Bar at present should be taken very seriously - if possible.

On Sunday, the movement of an outsize load complicated northbound life, especially as motorists were ignoring warnings that the - apparently clear - inside lane was closed. As the load approached and passed the recommended diversion via the A168 and Thirsk, not only was the inside lane nose to tail but the hard shoulder was an unofficial fourth lane for those trying to beat the world to the slip road.

Short of bullying, getting across from even the inside lane was dodgy. Spectator's colleague, being obedient, got stuck in the middle lane but, once past the giant cylinder, gambled on getting as far as the Leeming/Londonderry turn. The standstill began earlier, at the RAF Leeming and Gatenby junction, so it was up, over and back south to the Pickhill turn. Local knowledge is useful but, for the benefit of more than a few who were driving up and down and studying maps on the RAF Leeming road, is it time to mark that turn clearly "RAF Leeming and Gatenby only"?

No news is....

Spectator's colleague didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

A man who clearly had a story to tell called in to ask if the D&S would publish a report about a farm sale.

Well of course we would. It's the sort of meat-and-drink material this paper thrives on. The reporter began diligently writing down all that was relayed to her but the farmer clearly began to think better of it.

After the umpteenth time of being told some salient piece of information but also "but don't write that down", her hopes of a cracking tale were dashed and she was left with only the barest bones of a sheep sale.

After returning to her desk the man returned to the office asking to see her again.

Thinking he had changed his mind, the colleague spoke to him again. Alas he had only returned to tell her not to use his name either.

The following day the gentleman telephoned to say he didn't want anything in the newspaper at all. Spectator trusts the sale went well.

Litter louts latest

LATEST instalment in the litter saga surrounding Aiskew level crossing, reported in this column a fortnight ago: one green plastic bag for trade and garden rubbish whose vomited contents, apparently representing carrier bags stuffed with tightly crushed paper, rapidly formed a wet, dough-like mess beside the kerb.

Spectator's colleague, who lives at this beleaguered spot and told me two weeks back of his voluntary efforts at cleaning it up, cannot decide whether this particular consignment genuinely fell off the back of a lorry or represented some litter lout's furtive, illiterate reply to his criticism.

Among the contents: one large pictorial calendar, year indeterminate because of the accumulated muck on it. The sands of time are obviously running out unless this area, and the nation generally, gets to grips with the litter problem.