Walking on my way to the station this evening I was roused from my usual musings on the feasibility of fitting all urban pedestrians with rear-view mirrors by a rude hooting from a passing BMW. The hooting wasn’t aimed at me – those days are over – but at a cyclist. Not the sort of lycra-clad testosterone crazed pavement mounting wrong way down a one-way street red light running kind of cyclist (even BMW drivers are allowed to hoot at those) but a rather sedate chap who was pedalling home in a stately fashion across the road the driver wanted to turn into and thus, unforgiveably, getting in his way.
The Beemer, having blasted the opposition off the road, made the turn and parked and I was able to get a good look at the driver as he got out. The car was midlife-crisis red, so I wasn’t too surprised at what I saw: bald – check, middle-aged – check, short – ah. He was short. Very short. Very, very short. The sort of short that I’m pretty sure it’s no longer acceptable to call dwarfish. Which made the driver disabled and left me wondering if I could still justify blogging about him.
That said, he was still behaving like an arse, even if a shortarse arse. So in the spirit of equal opportunities, I’m slagging him off all the same.
Total time wasted today: 4 minutes
Total time wasted to day: 8 hours 26 minutes