I’m going to share some secrets, really dark secrets. Very few people know these secrets, and I shall share them with you, gentle reader.
The secrets of driving.
They say you can tell a lot about a town and its people by its drivers. If this is the case, my town is filled with the most selfish, bull-headed, aggressive, narrow-minded, inbred, mouth-breathing morons the world has ever encountered. Its drivers seem to have never discovered a small stick to the side of the steering wheel, an all too often over-looked device. Curiously, it allows other drivers, pedestrians and various road-using lunatics, namely, bloody cyclists, to see what the driver intends. It, for want of a better word, indicates, upcoming decisions.
For some reason, modern day drivers have elected to avoid this stick as often as possible, I believe this trend started with taxi drivers and spread, virus-like, into the general populace.
Another little addition to modern cars that people don’t seem to have time for is those random lumps on the side, containing tiny mirrors, just big enough to check hair and make up before a big date. Provided there’s no nope-homes on them. Seriously, why is it that it doesn’t matter how often I wash my car, there’s always some sneaky bastard spider hiding behind a mirror, waiting to make a new mile wide web between my car door and the neighbouring hedge in less than a millisecond? Apparently mirrors on, and in, cars are only good for checking make up and hanging dangly smellies off of.
When you’re behind the wheel of a car, you are controlling, with just a couple of simple touches, roughly a ton of metal and glass, which moves across many terrains of speeds up to, on most motorways, roughly 100 miles per hour. For some reason, the top speed of most average cars available now seems to be around 140 mph, but the speed limit, in extreme, is only 70 mph. Why are cars made to be able to go twice the top speed limit in the country? There seems to be very little point. Perhaps it’s some mass conspiracy between car manufacturers and the speed camera operators.
Back to bloody cyclists. Those lunatics give Holland and healthy lifestyles a bad name. They pay no road tax, no insurance and need no license to just hop on their bike, pootle off up the road, with no bloody helmet, and cause bloody mischief wherever their lycra coated limbs can take them. These raging bloody lunatics take off, on whatever bloody trip they like, jumping lights, skipping junctions, going on pavements and generally being bloody annoying. If I took my car across a red light, up a pavement and through the middle of town, making people scatter to avoid being hit, not only would I be arrested, I’d be fined, I’d lose my license, my car, and potentially, my freedom. Yet for some reason, cyclists have a whole different set of rules. It is very sad when a cyclist dies in an accident, we see so many in the papers. Cyclists hit and crushed by turning trucks, passing vans and general excess of idiot with too much equipment for their level of mental development. But at the same time, if I were to run past a truck, while it was indicating in the same direction I wanted to run past, I imagine I’d either stop and wait, pull back or just be a total self-obsessed twat and not pay any attention to what was going on around me and get squashed under those huge bloody wheels. There are those who get hit in horrible accidents, potentially unavoidable accidents, but there are also those old time favorites, Darwin Awards.
Anyway, pay attention to the road, the pavements and the skies. Listen to your car, get used to it, to its little quirks and foibles. Don’t assume you’re a fabulous driver, always assume that every other road user is a complete moron, then you won’t take any stupid bloody risks.
Oh, and take those stupid bloody dangly things off the back tow-hook. Right now.