This happened this morning, and as we drifted into motorway, I was stuck in the fast lane in a downpour that had the wipers working overtime. Behind me, a goon in a BMW was practically kissing my exhaust pipe, while to my right, a tattooed thug (sorry tattooed friends) was bunching me in.
Matey behind wanted me out of the way, while blokey to the right wouldn’t budge. And the wipers couldn’t keep up.
So you are left with little choice but to speed ahead and get clear of the box. My car has a gizmo in it that will record my speed in the event of a crash. For every kilometre over the limit, I pay a certain amount towards repairs. The pay-off for this is cheap insurance, and I’m no speed freak so the deal is sweet for me.
But by now I was pushing 120km in a 90km zone, in rain you couldn’t see beyond, ploughing through near flooded roads, just to get clear of these maniacs all around me.
It was a bit of a nuisance, I can tell you.
Eventually, the chap on the right who’d kept pace with my accelerations, hemming me in, floored it a bit more and sprayed his way past me, giving me room to move over for the impatient Beamer behind.
It was my birthday not long ago. Am I really such an old man already that I tsk-tsk and disapprove of these crazy drivers?
Danes take a theory and practical driving test. They even have to take a first-aid course so they know what to do in the event of a road accident.
Good job too.