Day 19: I Wonder If Being A Fucking Idiot Is The Only Qualification You Need To Drive A 4x4 In London

4x4s. Big, fuck-off cars that can go up 90 degree inclines on muddy hills backwards whilst towing a trailer full of 34 sheep. Owned by farmers, and people who live on mountains. Work in snow. Things like that.

I had to go to Wandsworth Common today. Wandsworth is, in slices, full of people who wish they could afford to live in Chelsea. Their stupid, pokey little terraced houses are decorated inside like stately homes. They all think they are posh, but aren't really. Their children, dressed in clothes that cost more than mine, go to pointless 'preparatory' schools full of equally dim-witted children. Their fathers do things in the City, or work in advertising. But the mothers. The mothers.

"It makes me feel saaaafe", they whine, their streaked blonde bobs shaking as they mow me down in my Micra. "The visibility's REALLY good and it's SO much safer for the children." Their stupid, air-filled heads can barely see over the steering wheel. They forget to indicate. They never, EVER say thank you (not even a little wave) when I stop (and I have to. You can't get one of those fuckers and a normal car in a road. It doesn't work.)

It's hardly original, me ranting about this, but they really fuck me off, these women. They've probably never worked. They're too stupid. They spend all day at the beauty salon having hot stone Thalissotherapie Reiki reflexology massages on their toes (£95 per 30 minutes). They don't even go to the supermarket because they get Ocado to deliver (and they can't use the computer, so they get the Nanny to do it). They think they have some sort of fucking god-given right to fuck up every single bit of traffic within a 10 mile radius because they have failed to notice a very simple fact: if you can get 5 adults in a Micra (or other small car), you can surely fit William and Jemima in the back. And isn't it safer to have a car that you can drive and park easily than some horror of a truck that would kill anything it ploughed in to? A small car will probably get a bigger dent than the child it might accidentally bump into, but you wouldn't feel yourself going over an eight year old in a Land Rover just off Wandsworth Common.

They should, quite simply, be ashamed of themselves. But seeing as how they all hang out with each other drinking coffee in some pathetic child-friendly caff called 'Boiled Egg and Soldiers', talking about their new Colefax and Fowler curtains and the villa they're all sharing in Tuscany, they probably don't even know they're doing anything wrong. There is no excuse. My only consolation is that St Ken is going to tax the fuckers into the ground, and that their road tax and fuel bills must be astronomical. Twats.

(My mum, incidentally, still automatically puts her arm out to protect the person in the driving seat if she has to brake suddenly. She has only driven nice small cars. And my parents are thinking about buying a Smart car, because you can park it nose to the kerb. But then she's not an idiot.)