The Suicide Pact

I'm sitting in a service station somewhere in the Midlands, guzzling Dr Pepper and coffee in a what can only be a suicide pact. If you read about a man whose bladder burst while driving up the M1 you know where to send the flowers.

My emotions are mixed. On the one hand the traffic is horrendous, I'm fighting an awful cold, and my car overheated on the M25. On the other hand, my mind is filled with delight and sweet aromas. Once again natural justice is following me wherever I go.

I was in the fast lane, travelling fast. Not too fast, mind, I was just within the limit. The car behind me was really irritating me. I could not go any faster, the car in front of me would not permit it, yet this lunatic was right up my backside. It is entirely possible that the driver was literally brainless, that a zombie had sucked it out through a straw while she was asleep last night. Or maybe she slipped on the kitchen floor this morning, jamming a teaspoon through her skull and into her brain. I'm not being nasty, I think I did see the glint of a teaspoon handle in my rear view mirror. One thing is certain, to drive that recklessly something was clearly wrong with her brain.

Anyway, she was pushing right up behind me so I gave in and her past, deciding to focus my anger on the zombie, or the teaspoon.

Out of nowhere a huge piece of tarpaulin hit her car and wrapped itself round one of her wing mirrors. Fortunately she kept control of the car, but I watched her pull over onto the hard shoulder to remove the tarpaulin.

Ah, the sweet joy of natural justice.