“Which roundabout?” asks John into his phone (again), “The first, second or third?”. We can’t hear Tigist’s reply but John’s startling patience continues – we’ve been at this for nearly half an hour. “Is that the one at the end of the railway construction?” he asks again, as I slowly keep driving round a huge roundabout at the end of the railway construction. The roundabout is piled high with concrete sleepers, coils of cable and piles of unidentifiable junk.