I actually managed to drive to Nottingham this morning without getting screamed at, honked at , flashed at ( I’m talking lights not lack of clothes, although, to be honest, I’m so freaking tired I doubt I would notice that anyway); no one swore at me; I didn’t accidently cut anyone else up;the kids didn’t need trauma-therapy and I had no use for any valium by the end of the journey. It was like the Waltons in a car … The Smug Waltons …
… and all it took to make it happen was practically leaving in the middle of the bloody night in order to avoid the traffic.
I don’t know if it’s just Nottingham, but I was always taught by my driving instructor, that if you are effectively turning right at a roundabout then you need to be in the right-hand lane. At the very least, the middle. But apparently not here. Here it’s the left lane … of which there are often two. Confused? Yup! Me too! Hence the need to drive stealth. In the dark. I think the root issue here is that I’m simply not rich enough. I was born into the wrong tier of the class system because am obviously nature’s choice for someone destined to have a chauffeur. Bad call natural selection process, bad call!
We still have to make it home this afternoon in the middle of rush hour. I rather suspect we will be back to
So I’ll make my apologies now Nottingham.
If you see a woman with a look of the devil in her eye, switching lanes every 15 seconds, possibly crying, hair like Einstein, using the international hand signal for ‘WTF you arsehole’, with two boys in the back looking like they are trying to pick the locks and escape .. then it’s probably me.
And I’m sorry.
I think I ought to set up a donation button or a crowdfund so I can raise the money for the chauffeur. It’s for the good of the nation.
Anna J xXx