Biscuit
Legendary Member
- Location
- Pentlow - the land of the free
Who ordered the hail stones?
Just managed to stay ahead of a shower on the way home. Each stop at traffic lights let it catch up. In and out of the City this afternoon.
Well what can I say except
I hate this bloody weather
absolutely drenched coming home. It started as soon as I left the building, I am convinced that someone turns the tap on when I get out of work.
tail wind was fantastic, 28 mph on the flat coming home, I would have broke my record but the computer packed in though water on the contacts.
HONK! HONK! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!"
I stop in front of his car and give a palms up gallic shrug. "Excuse me. What's the problem?" observing the middle aged jabba the hutt impersonating Eric Pickles lookee-likee sat in the driving seat.
Driver winds down window and sticks out head" "Get out of the ****ing way!"
"You see that sign?" points at sign to side about 1 metre in front of his car, alongside me "Can you not read? It says 'give way to oncoming vehicles'"
"**** off you ****, you're not a ****ing vehicle, you're on a ****ing pushbike. You don't even pay any ****ing road tax!"
"Cut out the swearing fatboy, YOU don't even pay any road tax. Your pile of junk is a Class A car. Zero rated for VEE EEE DEE"
"**** off you ****ing ****er and get out of my ****ing way"
"No"
"You ****ing what?"
"I'm not moving. Until you apologise for sounding your horn aggressively and swearing at me"
"I'm gonna ****ing do you. IF I HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS CAR!"
"Feel free. I'll quite happily kick your fat arse into the lake" nods in direction of adjoining body of water. "One of my mates was badly hurt down here a while ago because some nobber like you forced him to swerve"
"IF I HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS CAR!"
"I'm not stopping you fatty. Come on out if you fancy your chances"
"IF I HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS CAR! "
"Say that once more and I'll drag you out"
Zzzzuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuupppp clunk as the driver door window winds up and the central locking is activated.
I stare fixedly into the drivers eyes. He looks away. I shake my head slowly and ride off. I no longer wish the lovely Helen to drive a Citroen C1 regardless of how good the mpg is.