Did I mention that the verge where I attempted to emulate the Wright Brothers tricycling feats has been filled in with gravel? Has somebody been reading my blog? Or did some local dignitary notice my recent "arse-over-tit" and pull some strings? Would it be ungrateful and totally disrespectful to say they are just a tad late? Only joking. Anything which helps to keep this old fart in the saddle is good thing in my book.
Talking of which: I was finally allowed out in the later afternoon. Having shopped I was on my way back up the high street, heavily laden as usual. My way, and that of the busy traffic was baulked by a poor imitation of a human being sporting an oversized <cough> people carrier as he tried to compensate for his personal inadequacies by parking in the high street right across a busy crossroads. Strictly a no-parking zone for miles with perfectly adequate selection of free car parks and free pull-ins along its entire length.
The reason for his stop? He needed to cross the road to perform some ignominious errand on the other side of the street.
Having waited for the traffic to filter past him I pulled out around his tin, family minibus and began to accelerate. But the traffic terrorist hadn't finished yet. He gave me a long blast on his horn to show that he was amongst the chosen, if local, elite and and was [probably] a real Viking in a former life if the truth were known.
Not only that but he raced up the very low speed limit, shopping high street and then reversed rapidly into his own private parking space less than 60 yards further on! He had already vanished indoors in the seconds it took me to reach the spot. Whether he was desperate to brag about his great victory against the tricycling riff-raff, or simply afraid of a confrontation, we will probably never know.
Have you noticed the close similarity between the sound of shrieking apes and car horns? The similarity does not end with the merely audible but extends to their having precisely the same purpose. Sound an alarm to gain sympathy and to show your hierarchical feelings have been hurt by the lower orders impeding your rapid upward progress through life to some imaginary state of [obese] perfection. The moral of this story? I know where you live and wouldn't swap places for all of Trump's dreams of avarice. My sympathies for your intolerable plight! Seven miles, still not out. 🙉