The usual growling angry morning?
It’s that “I’m bigger than you” mentality that drives me mad every morning; although when I say 'mad' I do not mean the red fog of fury that some drivers suffer from which constitutes road rage, but a deeply rooted frustration; the sort of feeling that niggles throughout the rest of the day, like a thorn in your shoe that you know is there, but are either too busy to remove or repeatedly forget about until the next time it pricks you. Unsettling. Grrr! Why? - because you know that tomorrow will be the same. And the next day.
Let me elaborate – my morning school run is approximately 15 miles of which there are about seven miles of rural single track roads – might sound horrendous to some urban mum’s out there, but barring tractors, beet lorries and horses, I can do it in just over 25 minutes. How many hours would it take to cover the same distance in London? And we see pheasant, foxes and deer so often that the children don’t comment on them anymore. Idyllic really.
Or it would be idyllic if it wasn't for the aforementioned “I’m bigger than you” mentality of some drivers. Specifically, big four-wheel-drive vehicles. I drive a diminutive, yellow car – tiny engine, tiny(ish) insurance for teens learning to drive – and clearly I have less road presence than ... well, than a rabbit. And judging by the furry carnage on the tarmac, they are pretty much ignored too. Or are they perhaps expendable: collateral damage in the lives of the overly turbo powered?
What happens with daily periodicity is me trundling along the road in my little lawn mower on wheels - bit of Robbie or Alfie or Coldplay ringing in our ears, or, if it’s a Wednesday morning, playing(?) who’s learnt their times tables (or not?) - when round a corner looms a fast approaching, four-wheel-drive monstrosity (do they come in any colour other than menacing black?).
Now, I may be misinformed, but I always thought that the definition of four-wheel-drive was self-evident – four wheels for the purposes of driving off road. But in my experience, very few of these glittering behemoths ever stray beyond the tarmac, avoiding every puddle and muddy verge, in fact anything that might splatter their gleaming bodywork. As for my yellow motorized pram, with its narrow pram wheels and nippy manoeverability - well, the filth to its mid-riff tells a sorry tale of relentless, repetitive avoiding action. I know every puddle, ditch and pot-hole between home and school. 'Shaken not stirred' should be our motto.
Artwork is by Littlest.