Trying to Die
This morning, due to a work-related fuck-up of epic proportions (which is too depressing and dull to bother going into) I had to drive in to work, in order to get here for 7.30. And for the first time, I really thought I was going to see some idiot die on the roads.
No, not me. And no-one because of me.
I was driving along the single-carriageway section of the A11 around Elveden, which was pretty foggy. On a ‘clear’ section of road – bearing in mind the visibility of maybe a hundred feet at best, although I’d probably reckon on maybe half that – I saw in the mirror the idiot in a Subaru coming belting past the three cars behind me.
Looking forwards, I could see the headlights of a truck coming the other way…
Dickhead did manage to survive – just – because in a distinctly anti-MOTB moment, I slowed down, so he could cut in ahead of me, without splattering himself across the front of a 40-odd ton artic. Of course, in the next gap, he decided to do the same thing again – no idea of mortality, or just how close he’d actually come to being a statistic.