Driving me mental……..

You know the feeling, everything is going well, you’re happy and calm. All is well with the world. Nothing can shake you from this wonderful feeling of zen like calmness.

Then you meet the most monumental collection of idiots known to man and some bigger eejit has allowed them a driving licence. They not only go out but can infect much bigger areas, a lot more people being frustrated with their inability to think and now in a moving vehicle.

You know, at that precise moment on meeting one of these muppets, your day just got worse, your moment of zen destroyed.

You can recognise them as they normally drive cars such as Nissan Micra, Honda Jazz, any Peugeot, Vauxhall and ones that look like a washing machine on wheels. They are not limited to these but when you see someone driving such vehicles, you know what to expect, so take good care.

They can be seen in the outside lanes of dual carriageways and motorways when there are no other cars to be seen or indicating right at roundabouts as they go straight on, with no lane discipline. Mainly, they are seen at the front of queues doing 30 mph in a 60 mph zone while holding on the steering wheel for grim life, knuckles white and eyes bulging from staring so intently at what’s going on ahead. Then totally misreading everything that happens.

You have been warned.

Today’s chump of the week was driving a Vauxhall, so no surprise there. I was sat in the car in a town centre car park, in my wife’s car incidentally and none of the marques above, while waiting for Blondie (my wife, not Debbie Harry) to return. An old man was shuffling past the front of the car with a stick and moving quite slowly, with all the attributes of a man of a certain age who feels entitled to be a pain in the arse to everyone around, all the while not expending too much energy. Probably reads the Daily Mail just to feel that he has someone on whom to vent his outrage, all the while wearing beige.

Coupled with the Vauxhall driver, this was not going to be pretty and I wasn’t wrong. As he shambled over the car park, the Vauxhall driver decided to reverse out the space directly at the old gent, who by now was looking concerned. With all the speed of Daley Thomson and grace of Peppa Pig, he jumped out of the way to safety. Well, so he thought.

At this moment, the driver decided to turn the wheel as part of the reversing manoeuvre and had a second go at the poor old chap, as she obviously considered that mirrors were for other people. Once again, the lightning reflexes of the pedestrian meant that he avoided the car by jumping out the way, like a ninja hippo in full tutu. Or beige trousers, as it turns out.

He came down to earth next to the driver’s window and finally she saw him. The reaction of a normal person would be shock or surprise, maybe followed by a chat establishing that no harm done but very, very sorry. Maybe even asking if he was okay might have been in order.

None of it, as is the way of the moron.

She looked at him, just a glance, no surprise registered in her face that there was a large pensioner standing perilously close to her car with an outraged look on his daft looking face. Even his beige trousers were screaming in outrage, such was the depth. There was no flicker of emotion there in her at all, not one bit. No surprise, shock, outrage.


She just put the bucket in first gear and off she drove, without a backwards glance, I might add. Which is not odd as remember, mirrors are for makeup and checking hair. There was no connection that she nearly wiped out the Ballroom & Decathlon Champion of the local Derby & Joan club, whatever the hell that might be. None whatsoever.

Such is the way of the moron as they have no clue what just happened and if they did, it would be someone else’s fault. At least Mr Beige Trousers has something to tell his rabid pals about down the Derby & Joan, in great detail and full Daily Mail outrage. Which is a very good thing for him to be walking away, albeit very slowly as it could have been so much worse.

The Vauxhall driver will never know though. It will likely never dawn on her that she missed seeing a slow moving old guy with a stick because she couldn’t be arsed checking behind her before reversing, which could’ve killed someone. Not just anyone but the local D&J Ballroom and Decathlon Champ.

Unfortunately, they drive as well as walk among us.


5 thoughts on “Driving me mental……..

  1. I’d like a button on my steering wheel, once pressed, out of the bonnet would appear an Uzi (is that how you spell it?) and I would lock my sights on the car I detest the most, as they are ALWAYS driven by morons who don’t even know they have mirrors (as they can’t see them from their atrocious driving position, seat pushed so far forward that they have to be double-jointed in order to reach behind them to change gears from their booster cushion) – yip, the NissanfuckingMicra! Sorry couldn’t hold myself back from the swearie! This is a very controlled comment,,given the rising temperature at the mere thought of that particular make/model of imbecilemobile! X Boobies (@)(@)


  2. It is the best time to make some plans for the future and
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