1 Feb 2016
Round my way there are major road works. Said road was dug up, cones were scattered artistically and three-way traffic lights erected. Next a few more holes, then a pause while heavy machinery was delivered, and then … the road was shut. A major thoroughfare. Completely closed. At rush hour. Gridlock.
“Emergency gas works!” bleated the local council (though at 3pm there was no one actually working on the hole, so I guess my definition of emergency differs from theirs).
And so it was that a fifteen-minute school run turned into a Herculean journey of almost an hour and a half; enough for the most patient of drivers to gnash their teeth, tear out hair, and wail to the pitiless skies. Notwithstanding this considerable frustration, there was no point trying to be “clever” about it. There was nothing to be done but sit in the traffic, and inch one’s way home.
Of course, not all London drivers are as zen as Moi (stop laughing) when it comes to infuriating roads. Some choose instead to race down bus lanes, block box junctions and lean angrily on horns. One man got so apoplectic at a roundabout that he attempted to drive around it the wrong way (this did not end well). Meanwhile appalled pedestrians photographed a van and two cars who felt compelled to mount the pavement, and treat it like an additional traffic lane.
Whilst these examples are extreme, it seems that where I live is particularly plagued by dodgy drivers. Only a week or two ago I was in a 20-zone, observing the limit (not least because I was approaching a speed camera…) when I was overtaken, while going over speed bumps, outside a school, at drop-off time. It takes some kahunas to do that – and it’s not the first time it has happened.
In fact, school runs are the time I see the worst driving, and for that matter parking. Huge four by fours containing a tiny driver (with an even tinier child) block driveways, stop on double yellows and ignore zigzag lines and zebra crossings. Most seem to think that if they pop on their hazard lights during this fantastically thoughtless behaviour, it somehow cancels out the offence.
When I raise this in conversation I often hear the retort that if parking and driving weren’t so damned hard in the capital, people might behave better. It’s simply a furious end-of-the-tether tantrum that makes us so full of road-rage.
On some level I agree – indeed one particular school run some years ago still makes me chuckle. I was impatiently huffing at a driver who was totally unable to manoeuvre her over-sized family car through a perfectly reasonable gap, when my then five-year-old daughter yelled through an open window: “COME ON LOVE! You could get a BUS through THERE!” I turned bright pink and tried to hide (not easy in stationary traffic… where on earth did she get the phrase from…) but on reflection her language could have been worse.
In the end, though, none of it is worth the trouble. The furious zooming, the dangerous dodging and the blood pressure raising, all mean we get from A to B utterly wrung out, and possibly only five minutes quicker that we might otherwise have done. Hardly worth the risk of stroke. So I’ll just sit here, twiddle my thumbs, and wait for the road to be unblocked and the traffic to flow freely again.
