I told this story a while back, and some people got really upset, so here goes. There we are, the Cheam and Morden, average age 60 (and the rest), pootling along, and some numpty in Pearson strip passes us and doesn't say hello. I move to the front, and one of my clubmates yells, 'get him Simon', so I set off, pass him (it wasn't that difficult) and, the fool, he chases me, for about a minute, before blowing up entirely. So our little group catch him up, and we sit at the red light, giggling in a kind of geriatric way, and he sits there not saying anything. Hilarious.