Published: Thursday, 11th September, 2008 09:00
Road Rage
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BEING a genial, mild-mannered Observer, the very concept of road rage had long seemed alien to me.
Red-faced morons making unpleasant gestures and shouting mutely through closed car windows at some old biddy in a Reliant Robin who had never really figured out the point of lanes ... no, I just don’t do road rage.
Well, no, that’s not quite true. I do. And when I gave it some thought while speeding to work the other day, I realised that my road rage is with me as soon as I get behind the wheel. It’s a simmering, seething affliction that boils within me, manifested solely by an occasional tut or a dismissive but barely discernible shake of the head.
You see, no-one can drive correctly any more. Except me.
And so I rage – quietly, of course – at the nutters who top 50 in a 30mph zone (the fact that I’m doing 45 is neither here nor there).
I fume, in my own subdued sort of way, at the stupid woman who holds up traffic while she makes her third attempt at reverse parking into a space big enough for the Zeebrugge ferry.
Under my breath, I fulminate at the eejits – every single driver I’ve ever come across – who haven’t a clue what an indicator lever is for.
And you know what? I’m not alone. The net is bulging with fellow silent sufferers. Check out, for example, baddriving.com (“Have your say about the mindless morons that seem to populate the roads of the UK today”). Or visit a New Zealand site, Snapt!, which proclaims, “We wish to promote courtesy and consideration. It’s an opportunity to expose driver infringements, road incidents, and share your experiences with the Snapt community”. Drivers who run red lights, tailgate, park in disabled parking spaces, weave through traffic – they’re all there, courtesy of a growing community of road ragers who chose to vent their spleen through the internet rather than through the windscreen.
I’m going to join. No, I’m going to set up own site. Or maybe it’ll be my very own Mr Angry section of www.dunfermlinepress.com. I’ll fill it with rants.
I’ll slag off the owner of the blue Corsa who, on Thursday 26th August, cut in front of me as I come out Pitreavie Business Park at the King Malcolm Roundabout.
I’ll name the cretin who makes a point of taking up two spaces in the office car park.
I’ll expose the near-neighbour of mine who revs up his spluttering 1997 Laguna for fully 10 minutes at 5.30am every morning before setting off to work.
I’ll have a go at every ignorant lame-brain who’s ever towed a caravan for miles at 30mph, dragging behind a lengthening string of cars and ignoring, with almost admirable determination, countless opportunities to pull in and let us pass.
I’ll throw in some other stuff, too, like a report on the research from the University of Giessen in Germany which suggested that spacial skills such as map reading and parking may be difficult for some women because they had too little testosterone in the womb. (No you won’t – Editor).
And – my, I’m warming to this – I’ll have a go not only at bad drivers but at the brain-dead planners for whom roads would be as naked as an undecorated Christmas tree unless they are festooned, at frequent and irregular intervals, by a forest of traffic lights (here’s one for you: how may sets of lights are there on a journey from East End Park to Crossford?). Illogical road signs, unfathomable junctions, unwarranted lines of traffic cones – they’ll all be there, in my own quiet, online road rage.
On second thoughts, my fellow road users aren’t worth all that effort. Instead, maybe I’ll just make a rude and very animated sign to the next driver I come across. He – or she – will definitely deserve it.
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