Lets all have a jolly little prediction session about our limited mortality
Given that commuting by bike is a willfully semi-suicidal pastime, theres definitely one of them out there with your name on. So what is it? which type of big metal box is going to become your premature coffin? And what type of personal reaper will be behind the wheel?
After (another) scarily close call this morning, (I'd lit myself up like a christmas tree, but must have inadvertently left some type of cloaking device on) I noted that the thing that brushed my arm was starting to get depressingly familiar….
Invariably driven by an ageing, self-absorbed WAG wannabe, iPhone clamped permenently to her ear. Oblivious, or passive/aggressive to other road users, who are apparently required to get out of her way, without question. As despite doing eff all of any significance with her life, it is imperative that she gets there to do it (hair appointment? gym? Liaison in a Travel Lodge? lunch?) without any obstruction from mere mortals
As delusional about her own beauty, inside and out, as she is about her importance in the world, this is who is going to finish me off. Without a doubt. Possibly without even noticing. And even when doing so, actually more concerned about her paintwork. And what will she be driving? My body will be crushed under the over-sized wheels of, my blood splattered across the private plate of one of these monstrously ugly ego-chariots, I reckon…..
So who, and what, has got your number?