The roads of the UK can be a treacherous place that only seem to be getting worse thanks to one thing; other drivers. I've moaned about this in the past but it drives me mad, no pun intended. Before we get into it, one thing that needs making clear to the population and can be delivered as a public service announcement, do not, ever, sit in the middle lane. The middle lane of a motorway is not for chilling in you tiny minded imbecile! I would like to calmly inform you, you fucking idiot, that you always keep left unless overtaking. Fuck. Yes, I get road rage and unfortunately suffer our nations roads frequently. 130,000 miles in the last four years to be exact. So, as a warning to other road users I've compiled a list of dangers to avoid.
Peril 1 -- The Girlie Car
The tiny brightly coloured hatchback of the Fiat 500 or Mini Cooper variety. They'll often have something to the tone of fluffy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror and a tacky bumper sticker saying something like 'Daddy's Girl'. If they want to fully offend you they'll stick eyelashes on the headlights. These are driven by ladies under the age of 40 often with their seats seemingly impossibly close to the steering wheel. They drive just under the speed limit and only know how to use the middle lane.
Peril 2 -- The Black Cab
The London staple that sounds like a tractor. Usually driven by friendly cockneys that are the masters of small talk and sharing their opinions on the political state of the country if given a chance. When not nearly causing pile-ups they can be found queuing up and over spilling the taxi ranks, making sure as much inconvenience as possible is caused by this pack mentality. London is their hunting ground and punters are the prey. Often seen when cutting across lanes of traffic to some dim wit waving their arm in the air. They stalk, they pounce. They have devolved to no longer use indicators and must have one arm hanging out the window between March and September.
Peril 3 -- The Boy Racer
This phase usually happens at 17 and, if we're lucky, they grow out of it by 21, or at least progress to a Subaru Impreza or a Honda Type R. This breed of child confuses me. A study needs to be conducted in what part of the brain leads them to think 8-year-old hatchback suddenly becomes justifiable of noise pollution once it has a spoiler. To qualify for this level of stupidity the car must always be under a 1.2 litres, alloy wheels that only allow for an inch of tyre, a hole in the exhaust to make it sound 'like a beast' (with bronchitis), a playlist no one likes that revolves around bass so can be heard two streets away and must be fitted with racing car seats (for comfort while attempting to do 0-60 m.p.h. in under 30 seconds in 3rd gear). The only thing that brings the rest of the population joy from these go kart driving dick heads is watching them attempting to go over speed bumps with their front, back and side skirts nearly touching the ground. No one has ever seen one and commented, 'that Corsa looks so good, I wish I was as cool as that skinny teenager that gets to drive around in it.' Our only hope is that Fast and Furious stops making movies. Please.
Peril 4 -- The 'Player'
These twats are the grown up version of the Boy Racers. Men who drive cars like BMWs or Mercedes that they got on finance. The more potent the twat the more likely it is they have the convertible versions. They feel the need to drive around with vile music blaring and windows, or roof, down. A tribal tattoo will nearly always be spotted. Sunglasses will always be worn and they will nearly always be on steroids. The registration plate will always be personalised with something obnoxious like 'MRSP33D'. Take careful note: These creatures will only ever be seen alone. They're too embarrassing for most to be seen in the passenger seat.
Peril 5 -- The Van Man
Vans. Nearly always occupied by 2-3 grubby looking, uniform clad men who are either eating or sleeping. Their pass times include parking illegally and blocking traffic, being nosey looking in your car and at you a little too long at traffic lights, changing lanes constantly in a bid to get to wherever they're going quicker and cat calling women on the street when in an unmarked automobile. High vis vests, paper coffee cups and newspapers are dashboard essentials.
Peril 6 -- The Yummy Mummy
These women need putting down. The middle class mummies who drive around areas like Essex and St. Johns Wood in the giant 4 x 4's. Usually Range Rovers or Porsche Cayennes are vehicles of choice and are most frequently found around schools in the morning. Their limited comprehension of the size of their vehicle, paired with their Jackie O sunglasses and blow-drys obstructing their vision, they seem to spend their time obliviously in near collisions at junctions and double parked at private school gates. If needed, they can be repelled using dairy and gluten. Avoid at all costs.
Peril 7 -- Private Hire
You know the ones I mean. The black or navy people carriers that seem intend on 'Crash for Cash'. Indicators and lane usage are completely disregarded in all aspects. They are pre-programmed bumper cars. Drivers always appear oblivious to the carnage they cause around them and windows always blacked out. Something suspicious is definitely going on there as no one in their right mind would get in one, let alone pay for these near death experiences.
Peril 8 -- Mopeds
Like rats scurrying around every nook and cranny they can fit. I swear my new break pads are solely thanks to mopeds cutting me up. Don't even go there. Just, don't. (Breathes deeply).
Peril 9 -- The Horn Tooters
Honestly, some higher power has to give me strength with this lot. 98% of this breed is found in the south of England with London being the microcosm. I can comfortably say this after growing up in the North East now living in the South. I now get the jokes Northerners make about the way Southerners drive. It's true. These perpetual horn blowers are always behind you down here like the evil villain in a pantomime. A traffic light changes, 1 second passes, they beep. The person in front of you is waiting to turn right, they beep. You're in bumper-to-bumper traffic and the person in front of you edges forwards a meter, they beep. It takes all my power not to strap a vuvuzela to each of their ears to try and blow some sense into them.
So, there you have it. Next time you're daring onto the precarious British roads folks, bare in mind, as my Father always said, 'keep calm and the remember lowest IQ takes priority'.