Thanks for helping me check my brakes

Honest driving is a dying art. Not that it was ever really an art, but it’s certainly going to involve some dying if you lot keep it up.

It’s stressful enough driving on Britain’s roads without having to calculate the probability of which direction a driver will suddenly turn without warning. A drive to the shop to pick up some bread suddenly turns into a game of poker, where you have to watch every little movement other cars make. I’ve enough on my plate avoiding reckless cyclists and twats that decide to walk out on zebra crossings without having to make eye contact with every driver on the road.

I’m convinced at least 70% of drivers suffer from broken indicators. Whoever drafted the MOT check-list needs to make sure garages are checking them, because EVERY time I take on a roundabout, there’s some prick going around one without indicating. “Look at me! Where will I go, who knows?!” You’ll be going home in a hearse mate, one that probably doesn’t indicate either.

It’s plain laziness – those who are taking the first exit on the roundabout and feel that it doesn’t justify warning other road users that they are suddenly veering off left. Thanks for helping me check my brakes and whether my daughter’s neck can withstand whiplash. Increasingly, cars will pull up to junctions and just not bother with a left or right signal – you have to assume which way they’ll go by how many degrees their front tyres are turned. Cars don’t need cup-holders these days, they need protractors and a fucking trundle wheel in the glovebox.

I’m just too honest a driver to accept this kind of behaviour. I’ll be the only mug on the motorway indicating when overtaking an artic crawling at 60mph. Everyone else just weaves in and out of each other, like some tarmaced slalom from Mario Kart. Society isn’t legally obligated to just drift between lanes like an episode of Top Gear – tell us where you are going.

It’s not limited to motor vehicles either, with cyclists now deciding to turn 90 degrees without signalling. As if joining pavements, ignoring red lights and failing to wear a helmet aren’t enough of a risk, you’re now throwing suicidal Lycra men at my bonnet? I’m not calling for bullbars to be legalised again, but don’t be surprised if you see a Yaris driving round Bristol with a Dick Dastardly “point” welded on.

The worst offenders make their way in to a little black book; that’s right – I’m taking down registration numbers. Soon I’ll have a list as long as Schindler’s, and they’ll meet a similar fate. If I’m ever struck down with a life-shortening disease, I’ll be the head-case showing up at roundabouts with a sniper rifle.

If you can move your hand to put your wipers on, you can do the same for indicating. Nobody is too lazy to ignore rain on their windscreen, or so self-obsessed that they won’t put their lights on in the dark. It wouldn’t surprise me if most accidents stem from a lack of signalling. Traffic flows through anticipation, made infinitely easier to judge when we all know where we are heading. It’s a virus infecting the UK, and it’s as bad as speeding, if not worse. All joking and violent road rage aside, if you’re guilty of it, please refrain from doing it in future.

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