Motoring Is Driving Me Mad

So, the school run is back on then. I can tell this, because my journey to work has doubled in time this week and I find my usual levels of road rage, which teeters between furious and insane, go off the scale.

I’m generally a very affable person, except when behind the wheel of a car. In which case, everyone must die and I am the world’s worst misanthrope since Hitler.

But it’s always worse when the schools are back. Far, far worse. I simply cannot bear it.

This morning for instance. My drive takes a fairly rural route, so it’s not like I take a packed motorway each day where you’d expect traffic. When I get stuck, I have cows to look at and undulating hills with heather and goat. It’s a fucking joke.

I’ll drive through the world’s smallest hamlet, and find myself bogged down in a treacherous traffic jam, surrounded by Land Rover Discovery after Land Rover Discovery after Jeep after BMW X5 each with one petit blonde 30 something woman in the driver’s seat, struggling to see over the dash, with the world’s smallest girl in the back seat. I’ll stare into the distance wondering whether Britain is destined to turn into a giant car park rammed with motors. If you struggle in some of these villages, there’s no fucking hope.

Where over the summer I’ve blissfully got used to sweeping through traffic lights and junctions with ease, maybe getting stuck behind the odd tractor if I’m unlucky, now I have to queue for yonks just to make it out of my valley. Then after that it’s another 15 gritty, slogging miles across country.

What gets my fucking goat is the fact that I never once got a lift to school when I was a kid. I was walked to it until I was 10, then I made my own fucking way. For 6 incessant years, aged 11 to 17, I cycled 6 and a half miles a day every day, repairing my own punctures when my tyres got slashed (daily) and basically getting on with it. Now look at what we contend with? Snotty nosed spoilt little brats getting spoon fed by their pathetic, irrational, selfish mummies, all petrified of letting their kids have some normal independence and the chance to stand on their own feet. No wonder society is such a fucking joke. Everyone has turned into a fucking pussy, probably between the year 1998 and 1999.

And what is it with the ridiculously expensive 4×4 vehicles? Get fucked. When I was younger, in the 80s and 90s, you would see it as a rarity if you spotted a Jeep or a smart, top of the range Audi. Now, thanks to the credit crunch inducing MEW-ers (Mortgage Equity Withdrawers) who cashed in on their grossly overvalued homes, I’m surrounded by arrogant cunts who still think they are better than me even though my debt is one billionth theirs and I don’t have to lay in bed at night sweating my tits off about APR and the Libor rate.

So there’s me, dressed for work, in a little shitty French hatchback made some time last century, and I’m trying to eek my way humbly past all these selfish cock suckers who refuse to let their children use public transport, all the while my goal remains to reach my place of employment for the privilege of working for the State, oil companies and Tescos. And people wonder why I have anger management issues.

Then there’s the small matter of the weather. Can anyone explain why, as soon as a teeny dot of rain starts flicking down from the clouds, half a million people in my county decide to leap into their cars and make for the roads.

“Here, Gazza, make us a cup of tea?”

“No, sorry love! I gotta dash out in the car for a bit!”

“Why? Has something happened to mum? Is Uncle John in hospital again with Angina?”

“No love, it’s started raining outside!”

“Holy fuck! What the hell are you still talking to me for, get out there and drive like the wind!”

Stupid fuck heads. What the fuck is wrong with people? You’re not going to die, there’s no fire, calm the fuck down. Just do what you normally do.

I don’t get this shit. It’s not nano brain nuclear fuck wit science is it? It rains, just get on with it. So why the ridiculous disproportionate level of traffic? I had this today. In fear of flooding, I chose the motorway but left work much much earlier to beat any traffic. I was certain that I would avoid any problems, until I hooked up with the slip road. Then BAM! I hit traffic so bad, I literally could have walked the 20 miles home quicker.

Why? Well, it was raining. So naturally there must have been school assemblies preparing kids to wait for hours while their parents rolled around town like headless chickens until it stopped. But also, and this is even more fucking annoying…there was an accident.

How?

How is this fucking possible? If you’re reading this, and you have had an accident on a motorway in the past, I just want you to realise how much I hate you. You stupid, moronic fucktard. Ok, handy hint. Motorways go roughly speaking, in a straight line. You drive, in a straight line. Following me so far? If you want to change lane, check your mirror, indicate, look over your shoulder as a last saver check and change lanes. Then, turn your indicator off, and press your foot on the pedal that makes the car go forward.

Er, that’s basically it. Oh, and keep a normal distance from the car in front. Follow that, and you won’t ever have to disrupt the lives and mental stability of hundreds of thousands of people within a 12 mile radius.

Got that, fuck heads? I mean, really, anyone who crashes on a motorway, whether it’s your ‘fault’ or not, should be detained in a mental institution for the worryingly thick. I should then, by default, be permitted to visit you in your padded cell and proceed to play squash with you using a giant, reinforced steel squash racquet.

All of this is not simply a Monday to Friday phenomenon by the way. Oh no, let’s not forget that as soon as Saturday or Sunday arrives, all the ancient Mail readers go out in their high powered saloons which they never take above 40 mph (on the motorway). I’ll be behind the wheel, with the missus, trying to get to somewhere fairly relaxing and nice, like a restaurant or a pub or a cinema, and I’ll be blinking at the clock and my flagging revmeter as the Hyundai Getz or odd, random 6 litre Korean car in front is plodding along at 27mph in a 40 zone. You can’t overtake, because every time you try, the old fart in front has started to overtake the bicycle in front of him by steering 12 feet across the line – just in case he breaks the Highway Code and dies of a guilt and shame induced heart attack.

So 20 minutes later, and you’re still looking for your moment to overtake the selfish old fucking prick, except now you’ve got the missus on your back having a go because you’re spoiling the day by being moody and aggressive and using bad language. So the day’s been soured, you’re blowing your beer money on petrol and brake pads, and it’s all because too many old people with too much money, time and self obsession are allowed to drive well past the age at which they may have travelled at proper speeds. I don’t know, maybe these old fucks were alright before 197, when they decided to trade in the Capri for an Austin Metro City.

My ambition is to save up to buy a car with reinforced steel side panels and trim, so when someone annoys me, I can check to see if there are cops around, and ram them off the road. I think it’s the only proper way forward.

Either that, or I get elected Prime Minister and I’m able to take my just revenge on all those drivers who lack a brain or any sense of consideration.