Letter to the Man in the Audi

Dear Man in Audi,

The one who overtook me on a blind bend today, nearly causing a head-on collision. The one I hooted and flashed my lights at.

Yes, you.

You seemed a bit confused; shooting past me then slowing down to 20mph.

You were yelling at me via your mirror.  I can’t lip read, though. Sorry about that.

But the cartoon-like effect of your swivelling head, wobbling mouth and eye balls rotating in opposite directions did make me grin.

And that’s quite a skill you’ve got there, operating the steering wheel by telekinesis, leaving both arms free to flap around in the manner of one with a wasps’ nest in each armpit.

Then there was the way you were frantically bouncing around in your seat, as if you’d just realised your bottom was involuntarily hosting a recently-ignited firework.

That would explain the urgency with which you overtook. Perhaps you were desperate to get home, rip your pants down and jam your buttocks into a bucket of water.

Or maybe you were feeling a tad defensive, having nearly caused a 3 car smash and been rebuked by a woman in a beat up old Nissan.

Anyhow, when you put your hazards on and abruptly slowed almost to a stop in front of me, I didn’t mind one bit.

I had the Sex Pistols on, you see, and was having a lovely singalong. (Do you know Pretty Vacant? You ought to). So I welcomed the opportunity to prolong my journey but doubted you’d be able to keep it up for long. Sure enough, off you zoomed, no doubt still yapping and jiggling around in your seat, swatting at imaginary wasps.

I hope you managed to get to your destination without killing anybody.

And do get in touch if you’d like to discuss our little interaction.

I’ve got a lovely 12″ rocket and a box of matches. You’re welcome.


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