What a lovely weekend! We managed to get ourselves to Chessington World of Adventures for a nice Sunday out and mostly succeeded. Things took an amazing amount of time to do, like a 50 minute lunch or an 20 minute walk covering 100 yards, but on the whole it was good if expensive for us adults (£27 per adult head, under 4′s free thank fuck). Flying dumbos were a big hit, as were the bouncing berrys – despite that fact that Luke was just a centimetre over the minimum permitted height. I clung on to him for the duration of the (very gentle) ride, but the attendant was watching us like hawks. Probably for the best. Toadies cars were also popular, while both of us managed to fuck off individually for a few minutes to use the ‘single rider’ queue on the Dragon’s Fury . Hello headache, it’s been a few months.
On the way back we encountered a different kind of fury, a fuckwit driving a Golf GTI. He tried to undertake us on the inside lane just as Jude was pulling into it, then when I made the international ‘wanker’ sign to him as my opinion of his lack of driving skills, his personal red mist descended. For the next 10 minutes, we were followed down the M3 by this fruitloop, all the while he requested me to kindly pull over onto the hard shoulder and fight him. Mano a Mano, as the Bush family like to say. We were cut up again and again as he tried to force us off the road.
Needless to say, we bottled it, and we pulled off after Jude did a very late pull off the motorway onto the Basingstoke turn off. He managed to make it by stopping, reversing back up the motorway then following us down the slip road, which scared and horrified me, but also piqued my curiosity. That was when I noticed he not only had his female partner in the car, but also a baby seat with a tiny kid in the back seat. Serious loonage. At the end of the slip road were some traffic lights, naturally red. We pulled up to stop, his door started to open then Jude just floored it and went through the red lights anyway. That was the last we saw of him.
Nice day out, nice weekend in general and luckily the pregnancy test that Jude did was negative. The next time the quack suggests she get one I’ll beg her to pass up. I don’t want to go through that again….
This week is commuting to Warwick week, so that’s fun. It’s only 150 miles round trip so the company don’t want to pay for a hotel. Pity, I might get some sleep that way, even if it’s in a Alan Partridge stylee lodge off the A46. You’ve got to take it where you can find it.
Jebus, Pete! What a nutter. You’ve reaffirmed my quest not to let other drivers know about my road rage, just in case they’re readier to act on it than I am!
The man was certifiable, I’m sure. He was probably ripped to the tits on something, hence his eagerness for scrapping on the side of the road, but the weird part (for me) was that his partner was as well.
I was _fucking_ glad to see the back of him, since our next plan was to drive to the cop shop in Basingstoke (phoning ahead to make sure they were open, of course) and hoping the plod would do something. Luckily, Jude’s barge of a car proved nippy enough to get us away in the short amount of time we had.
The whole thing bothered me all monday, really got me down for a few reasons. Primary one being his sort existed.
What a knob! It’s one thing when you’re on your own but reversing down a motorway with a baby in the back…Jeez.
He was indeed a prime example of a knob. The fact that his girlfriend/wife/SO was with him and she was as keen for us to stop for a scrap was enlightening. Not for her the calm voice of reason, she was up for it as well! Still, I suppose for every stocking there’s a shoe or somesuch nonsense(1)
(1) Copyright, My Ma, bless ‘er old grey head.