The same
is true of the harmless misdemeanour known as speeding. When your minding your
own business, going to sign on, and the filth are doing their best and most
rewarding police work, stepping out of the hedgerow next to a " so called "
infants school, just as you are opening the throttle to the end stop, to accelerate
past the badly parked cars which are strewn about the pavement and gutter at
all angles. Evidence of mummy dropping the little brats off in the bus lane,
having driven them the full 100 yards from the house to stop them getting run
over.
It's the
parents that should be in the school instead of their little horrors, as they
aren't capable of working out that the likelihood of them all dying in a fatal
car crash as they slip the clutch on the 100 yard journey to school, is 85000%
more likely than a car mounting the pavement, destroying the armco barrier and
the closely spaced 400 year old oak trees, before jettisoning their grisling
offspring into the air " kenny like " before coming to rest skewered on the
weather cock point atop the vicarage.
Another
SP30 endorsement on the licence, and 60 quid lighter a month later, is sure
to leave you in a vengeful fury, but have you ever tried purposefully to get
done for speeding ? ? ?
. . . here's the twist, you can't do it.
Last week I went past a jam sandwich
on the M1 like a streak of lightening, with a " sporting
" ton fifteen on the clock ( estimated ). I was clog to the floor but no bites.
Detective chief inspector Chisholm and Sgt. Dibble must have been having a smoke,
playing a number plate game, car snooker, having a game of footsie or looking
at each other's groin area or something `cause they weren't interested in me,
trying to blow up the engine in my clapped out, 1978 ford capri ( brown and
rust colour ) for the last time before the scrap yard.
To make
matters worse, the smoke from my exhaust pipe was causing a minor fog hazard,
and the passenger compartment of the " sports style " car was getting
a bit smelly with fumes. It's always a lot of fun though, the last journey
to the scrappers, seeing how many minor collisions with fences, walls and
lamp posts you can have. And also trying to wheel spin off the last remnent
of rubber from the tires, whilst simultaneously blowing up the engine.
Extra points
are always awarded in the scrap trip olympics for limping through the
gates with only two cylinders firing, a flat tyre, and dints in every body panel.
But there's only one way to gain maximum points and a gold medal, and that's
an exquisitely timed suspension collapse, as you slam the creaking drivers door
shut for the last time before receiving, a wordy excuse from Papa
Laserou about the low value of scrap cars and a cursory fiver " for the
battery ".
I've been taking special care to shoot past gatso cameras, with as much
velocity as possible, but the roads are getting so clogged that you struggle
to get her out of first gear.
60 is rarely possible in a 30 zone these days due to the amount of traffic.
Someone who was brought in Doctor Who's Tardis from 60 years ago
would think it was the grand civic occasion of the Lord Mayors Parade.
How to get
done for speeding
and other
minor crime
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