Motorway Service Stations
Motorway Service Stations are legendary places of lore are scattered across the lost island of Britain and hold many lost treasures such as the renowned "toilet with vandalism and excrement on the walls," the 10 "arcade machines" which only ever have Time Crisis 3 on them and the mysterious "Wimpy." Most of this article is based on the translations of the archaic text "My Memoirs" by Tony Blair, and since there is no existing internet copy it means that I cannot cite the sources for this article.
A short history
The first motorway service station was formed by Sir Witherington Hat Smythe of Western upper a-little-to-the-left Kensington and served a wide variety of culinary delights such as crisps, Pepsi and sandwiches. It was huge success, despite having been built in the middle of Norfolk and being made out of cabbage. After this huge success which brought Sir W.H.Smythe an order for his execution from the King himself, all he needed to do was wait around for the motorway to be invented. Not much is known about what happened next to Sir W.H.Smythe, but shortly after his disappearance the high street retailers WHSmiths were set up. The idea was then left to stagnate for awhile, until the USA and those dashing young pioneers managed to reinvent it (the literal translation of the archaic texts actually translates as; to mess it up) into something all together more sinister.
Modern Service Stations
Modern motorway service stations are highly dangerous places to be in the modern world, as there are many dangers.
With the introduction of "Alchopumps" at the petrol station you may find that you have to wait as teenagers between the ages of -14 to 1021 fill themselves up with a fuel made out of industrial alcohol, sugar and wood. Do not under any circumstance approach these teenagers if they are taking a long time, staggering around drunk or lying on the floor dead from drinking too much wood.
Then there are the additional worries of "psychologically damaging mothers with irritating baby attachment," "inbred morons in Dodge/Chrysler pickup trucks" and "moronic shop assistants."
However, all of this pales in comparison to "Prescottsaurus Rex" who is known to stalk motorway service stations seeking protestors against the one true God Tony Blair to punch, new prey to devour to add to his mighty collection of modern fats and to see if the new secretary will go for a quick shag. He does this in his legendary steeds "Jaguar Prime" and "Jaguar Omega" both of which are mobile stately homes on wheels, capable of carrying the massive bulk of Prescottsaurus around the country in relative comfort seeking new prey to punch/devour/commit sordid acts of sexual misconduct which breaches the ministerial code. Even Jeremy Clarkson, renowned car journalist, Conservatories voter (and by extension failure as a human being) and all round loud, shouty guy, applauded the brilliance of the Jaguar cars after being run over by Prescottsaurus' Jags.
The Devil's Work
Unknown to many, Motorway service stations are in fact Satan's above-ground, surface installations ready to provide help and back up to any demon who finds itself in trouble. Due to the current restrictions on religious activity (please see the Holy Agreement for the death of religion which was signed by both God and Satan after things got a bit out of hand one night after one too many glasses of communion wine and God ended up telling Bush to invade Iraq) not many demons use these services outside of the Daytime Television Task Force and the odd demon-cum-Member of the Conservatory Party.
This fact was discovered after much debating between the renowned scholars Tony The Tiger and Noel Edmonds, the reasoning went that no place which has Burger King, McDonalds, KFC and something as insidious as Wimpy all under the same roof can be good. Also, any place in which the toilets lead to the bridge over the motorway has to have been dimensionally molested.
The primary demonic use of these services is mainly to cause hassle for irritated British tourists who have the kids vomiting all over the back seat and the last thing they need is some pale faced git in an 18 wheeler truck park directly in front of their car while he goes off to take 10 hours buying a packet of Hob-Nobs and a giant bucket of industrial waste (the literal translation is in fact; KFC Family Sized Bucket).
The Future of the Motorway Service Station
Since the world ends the day after tomorrow's yesterday, this section is pointless. Motorway service stations however are, in traditional British fashion, going to be putting on the BBC World Service on the tannoy, and going down to the nuclear bunker and sit around on cold, hard bunks while wearing full radioactive suits, eating cold baked beans and listen on in silence as someone coughs in the darkness.
NASA has already sent unmanned capsules to Mars with the rudimentary elements for building a "Moto" service station, to sustain future manned missions. The toilets were pre-impregnated with the stink of stale alien urine, and graffiti on the walls reads "Ming the Merciless takes it up the bum."