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The First Circle of Hell - Leigh Delamere Services

Limbo is where the virtuous pagans and those that have not been baptised dwell. They didn't really do anything wrong, they just didn't worship the right guy. Leigh Delamere service station is full of people who didn't really do anything wrong, they just have the misfortune to be travelling on the M4.

The car park itself has a climate of its own; regardless of what the weather in the rest of the region is doing it is always windy and drizzly, leading everyone to stumble in through the doors as if they've just come in from a blizzard and are seeking salvation. They're going to be very disappointed.

The selection of fast-food outlets do their best to stretch the definitions of 'fast' and 'food' to breaking point. The toilets either have too many mirrors, meaning they seem to go on to infinity, or too few meaning you stare across the sink to sort your hair out only to find your reflection is actually a 50 year old German woman.

The shop features dozens of people trying to make the difficult decision of whether to pay the extra 50p for the BLT over the cheese and pickle sandwich given the base payment is already Ł4.80 and whether they really want The Greatest Hits of the 70s on cassette even though their car only has a cd player. Everyone stares in disbelief at the tacky ornaments, simultaneously wondering why anyone would buy them and if it's rude to turn up at Aunty Sue's without a gift.

By day the services are crowded full of children, coach parties and old people. By night it's a ghost town, pale and pasty looking people slumped at plastic tables over their burger king's utterly confused by an environment that isn't 5foot square and trying to make their eyes focus on something other than the lights of the car in front.

Entertainment options are limited. The arcades just seem too much like activity. When you've been concentrating on not hitting real moving vehicles at 70mph lining up cherries or even shooting zombies seems a little daft. You either try to make conversation with the people you've already been sharing a car with for what feels like days, or stare at BBC News 24 pondering how preferable the idea of a war zone is compared to returning to the car for another couple of hours of bad radio.

On one notable occasion I managed to drive straight through the service station completely missing the entrance to the car park. All things considered, it was probably for the best.