Rain hit my windscreen as I sat in my usual queue of traffic this morning.  The left wiper scraped and juddered up, juddered down, juddered up, juddered down.  I hate this car.  I resent it.  It tortures me on intermittent wipe with its juddering wiper blade.

There’s always a queue there, and always, I take my place in it along with many others who just want to get through the fucking lights before they… just.. go.. no… it’s amber… don’t stop!  Before they change to red.  And there are the others who sail past us all and cut into the lane at the last minute. I never let them in.  I’d rather throw myself in front of their cars than let them jump the queue.  Today, however, was different.  Distracted by the juddering wiper blade and the unfamiliarity of the radio presenter, I wasn’t quick enough to prevent being cut up by some woman in an Audi.   She’s obviously a nasty piece of work who probably does vile things to small animals, you can tell the sort.  

I spent the next ten minutes behind her as we crawled forward towards the traffic lights.  Ten minutes in which she didn’t stop fannying around with her hair. I contemplated the consequences of ramming her really hard.  Obviously a dead car and possibly a conviction for me, but at least she wouldn’t have been messing about with her hair anymore.

What is it about the back of somebody’s head that induces such violent daydreams in me? Bad manners, generally. I have an imaginary skewer with which I’d like to make a very large human kebab on which perpetrators of crimes against me meet a slow death by cattleprod.  I can’t remember who’s on there specifically, but any ill-mannered, inconsiderate arsehole should be on the lookout for my metaphorical spike.

My thoughts of an apocalyptic outcome to my commute were broken when I discovered some soft mints that had gone hard over night.  They stuck to my teeth when I chewed them.  

Why do people make things that stick to your teeth?

It’s still raining.