Over the bank holiday we were wending our way back home from deepest, darkest Kent. We had decided on a detour to ‘Batemans’ as we had never been there. Nice afternoon, and we left the village.
A few miles on, we were going through another small-ish hamlet and I spotted a cyclist coming the other way. He was fairly hacking along, taking a good road position. There were two cars behind us and that was it.
Behind the cyclist however, was this idiot in a big, shiny 4×4, you know the sort, Clydella checked shirt, florid face, body warmer. Anyway, he was obviously far too important to wait for the traffic to clear.
Neither of us could believe our eyes when he took to the pavement and through what looked like lavender hedges to undertake the cyclist. Hooting his horn and shaking his fist he thundered along. The cyclist nearly fell off his bike with surprise. Where oh where are the traffic cops when you need them?
No one was hurt but I was dumbfounded at what I had just seen. Cue Mrs Slowjo saying I shouldn’t really ride on the road any more! Fortunately, things are less frantic in sleepy Suffolk.