Today, I endured a horrible, horrible trauma.
I am speaking, of course, about the silence competition I was coerced into entering with my friend. The speed at which all our other friends agreed we should have a contest to see who could be quiet for the longest was frankly insulting and I can’t believe they thought I wouldn’t go the distance. Because I did.
We agreed to end our competition at 2.30, partly because neither of us would back down, but also because we couldn’t stand being quiet for any longer. Also because conversation is very difficult when you have to write everything because you finish your sentence about beards and everyone else has moved on to insulting you and telling embarrassing lies about you to other people because they know you can’t answer back. (To anyone reading this who may know me: I DID NOT WET MYSELF.) If we could only communicate by writing, the world would be stuck in approximately 1764 because everything would take such a long time. Also, there would be no rainforests left and half the population would have murdered the other half for bad grammar.
I have just realised that this is what would happen today if the Internet were not a suitably protective dividing force between the people online. Thank God for the Internet.
The ‘Who-Let-You-On-The-Road?’ Awards:
Three nominations today:
In third place, Woman Who Beeped and Gestured At Me Because I Waited For Another Car. This one’s pretty self-explanatory, but to clarify; the car had right-of-way and the traffic lights were out so I did the sensible thing and let him go.
In second, Woman Who Beeped At Me Because I Pulled On To The Roundabout In Front Of Her. You were driving too fast, there was traffic anyway so you would have had to slow down as soon as you came off the roundabout, I wasn’t even close to you and you then got left behind because you were too busy checking your phone to notice that I (and all the other traffic in front) was moving on while you held up the whole queue of cars behind you. Also, well done on your violent acceleration, erratic lane-change, and even more violent braking every time the stop-start traffic came to a stop. It must be immensely satisfying to watch your fuel gauge drop every time you put your foot on a pedal.
And in first place, the big winner: Motorbike Man. It was so impressive and manly, the way you roared across the junction (through a red light, by the looks of things) into a 20 zone and that double-rev as you bounced over the speed bump made me weak at the knees, especially as you weren’t wearing leathers. What was most amazingly sexual, though, was the L-Plates you had on.