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OK, I've come off my Brompton folding bike to look for work (and I wrote to Normal Tebbit, to let him know that). Now I've found a job that requires me to get off my backside to travel beyond a daily commute to central London on a pretty regular basis. So, I've had to join the ranks of all you other smelly, gas guzzling motorists and I've bought myself a little 1 litre Pug 107. Before I decided to venture over to the dark side I, as a former halo donning cyclist, despised drivers with a passion whenever I toodled to Sainsbury and breathed in all that Benzene and Carbon Monoxide from your filthy exhaust pipes to get fit - NOT.
Guess what, I still do... Despise many motorists, I mean.
If, like me, you are a London resident you know that you don't just get behind the wheel to drive to work, arriving fresh faced and relaxed after a comfortable drive to start the day ahead. Instead, you brave the battlefields to get to work in the hope that you can arrive in one piece - mentally or physically. If you can, it is nothing short of a miracle, even if you do start your day in a foul mood assuming you haven't been carted off to A&E instead. That's because you will have come across some London motorists who seem to leave their road manners at home (assuming they had any in the first place, which I very much doubt in many cases).
I get heartily sick of motorist morons parking about 2 mm away from my rear bumper at traffic lights (usually on a hill), making me use half a tank of petrol revving up to ensure I don't slip back on a hill start and prang them.
I'm even more sick of roundabout road hogs not remotely acquainted with their indicators, making it impossible for me to know if it's safe to pull out, and when I have discovered that I could have pulled out.... if only that other car had indicated correctly or at all.. it's too late now that I have a menacing flurry of cars and lorries heading my way, which will squash my little Pug flat as a pancake if I chicken game them instead. So I don't. That means I am held me up for another five minutes or more, at least.
Then there's the menacing motorway morons. Those who chicken game onto the slip roads into the left lane instead of realising I have the right of way (according to the Highway code), because I am already on the motorway, and forcing me to slow down whilst they barge their way in front of me at 70 mph - with an inch to spare from my front bumper.
Then there is the selfish motorist who has never, ever, ever in their entire life got into the wrong lane in all the years they've been driving. Nope, that's right. I am the only person who has ever done that. I must be in the Guinness Book of Records for achieving that rare accolade. Those who never make a mistake think its hilariously funny to edge forward to close of any gaps, after seeing the anguish on my face as I desperate indicate to helpful and considerate drivers in the parallel lane I wish to join in the hope that one will let me squeeze in. NOPE! Helpful and considerate London drivers are, I've discovered, as rare as elephant herds in Mayfair.
So am I pissed off? Yep! BEEP, BEEP! HONK, HONK! FLASH, FLASH.....
By: Grumpy xx