This is another article I wrote for the, now defunct, Morning News. I never submitted it, since I was advised to let sleeping dogs lie.

Top Gear

There was concern when the earlier pioneers of mechanised transport designed machines that would carry people at speed. It was believed that the human body would not survive being carried so quickly. Today we think we know better. Formula one drivers regularly prove that the body can withstand speed. Perhaps the same cannot be said for the mind.

It seems that, once placed behind the wheel of a car, today's driver is transformed into some primitive life-form whose behaviour is remarkably unlike that person's normal behaviour. I was recently involved in a road rage incident and, while I cannot condone some of my own actions, I was flabbergasted to by the way things turned out. The Highway Code tells you to use the "Mirror, signal, manoeuvre" routine; perhaps it should be "Mirror, signal, manoeuvre, count to ten and get a grip on yourself".

The embarrassing debacle started when, on the way to the supermarket, I decided to pull out of my lane. I needed to do this in order to use the rapidly-approaching roundabout and I felt that the blue car in the outside lane would, despite its speed, also be slowing down for the roundabout and provide the space for my lane-change. Having indicated my intention for a few seconds, I made my move, despite noticing that the gap was less than I would have preferred. The driver of the other car made his move, he hooted his horn. Retaliating with disgust at his impatience, I hooted back. Mr Blue Car shouted an abusive insult - I lip-read it in my rear view mirror- and I gesticulated back at my rear view mirror. It was at this point that a voice in my head told me that this particular encounter had already gone too far.

Two wrongs don't make a right and between us we had acted with the combined age of a seven year old. As the blue car tried to overtake me at the roundabout, I slowed down to let him and found myself behind him. As he passed the supermarket, I pulled into it. The matter was closed. At least, the matter should have been closed. The voice in my head was telling me to watch out for any further appearances from Mr Blue Car and this turned out to be a good idea. A few moments later, safely locked inside my car, I discovered why you should never upset a Mr Blue Car - sometimes they double-back for a quick chat.

So long as there was three tons of Volvo around me, I felt in a reasonably safe position. After hearing a fair amount of verbal abuse, the situation was becoming clearer. Mr Blue Car had not seen my indication. With his children in the car, Mr B.C. believed he had been cut up and then insulted; he believed that this was an act that should not go unpunished. He required my presence outside of my vehicle so that he could administer said punishment. If only we could have talked the matter over, perhaps it could have been resolved amicably. Unfortunately, I never managed to say much to my assailant - after he had finished his threats he retired to the back of my car to wait for me to emerge and receive the promised beating.

I was not sure what to do in a situation like that. The diplomat in me wanted to explain my side of the story, maybe suggest faulty indicator lights (these things can fail you know) and essentially smooth things over. The realist in me told me that we had gone way too far for that. One thing was certain - I had not decided to visit Tesco in order to have a brawl in the car park. I had a brief reality check and decided the best move would be to leave - the empty parking space in front provided my exit.

Some time later, I checked my indicators they were working fine. In the heat of the moment and, perhaps, with the glare of the sunlight, Mr Blue Car had probably just not noticed them. If I had shown less indignation at his hooting, the incident would not have escalated the way it did. Perhaps, with hindsight, he regrets his actions. So, maybe the early doubters were right to worry about the effects of high speed transport.

I returned to Tesco later that day. Nothing untoward happened that time, apart from the trolley rage incident.

Written: 11 September 2000
Posted: 19 January 2001
Ashley Frieze