Day 85: I Am Afraid To Drive

I have just seen more couture frockery gathered together in one room than I thought was possible. It was good. Dear Friend adorning her lovely self in wedding attire, whilst I lolled on the bed and kept a strange animal out of the tissue paper. A dodgy moment with £800 worth of Miu Miu and a stiff zip, but otherwise we came out of it well and went for dinner in what I believe is commonly known as a 'gastropub'.

But the journey back! My dears!

Kingsland Road

I go up and down Kingsland Road a lot. I have three friends who live near or off it, and some journeys to the North cannot be undertaken without going up it. Of all the roads in London, Kingsland Road is the most dangerous. More people wander randomly into the street without looking than they do anywhere else. I will kill someone soon, and not be sorry about it. Add to this people changing lanes without indicating and shooting out of side roads without looking, and I will be dead too.

New Trick By Cyclists

Be a knob. Have a stupid hat on, and a cretinous friend. Then stand at a pedestrian crossing and push your front wheel out like you're going to cross the road. Do this repeatedly, making sure that everyone brakes suddenly and has a minor stroke. Then laugh when someone drives into the back of someone else. Then stop laughing when I get out of my car and bludgeon you to death with four miniature bottles of Evian that I happen to have in my boot. (That and a Daily Telegraph golf umbrella, some books, some unlabelled CDs, an old pair of trainers and - by the smell of things - some salmon that I 'lost' about a week ago.)

Drive A Porsche Cayenne

You are a knob before we start, but just to add to your knobbery, make sure you change lanes without indicating, start moving in whilst I am driving without indicating and suddenly overtake me, turn off suddenly without indicating, brake suddenly and for no apparent reason, and listen to fucking 50 Cent so loudly it makes my clutch reverberate.

But first of all, make sure that I am behind you from Dalston Station, over London Bridge, down Blackfriars Road, through Kennington and all the way to the Oval. Then and only then will you die when I get out of my car, pick it up (as possessed by superhuman angerstrength), and drop it on your head. But to be honest, that won't make much of a difference, as you are already so patently fucking stupid that removing half your brain will make no difference whatsoever.

Drive A Blue Van

What you must do is this. Drive into the back of a parked car (a not posh car; a car that belongs to a normal person living a normal life), then drive off fast. You must also then underestimate the power of my memory when I am Truly Fucked Off, for I have remembered your registration number, and your cockery will be found out.

I hear the underground in London is very efficient this time of year.