The schools are back.
On a rainy September morning, kind-hearted and fearful parents all over the country were probably joining similar traffic queues, the sound of Radio One in their ears and the taste of hurried corn flakes and coffee still lingering.
I was just trying to get to work and sighing in the long line of traffic. It's been a long time since I listened to Radio One and I wasn't in the mood for cheery banter or pendulous politics, so Five it was today.
"...Now you've got to be careful, but you can give a baby some force when you hit it," said an enthusiastic voice.
"Er, what?" I said, out-loud, to no-one. It turned out they were discussing what to do if a baby is choking - a prospect I hadn't thought of before, but suddenly found absolutely terrifying.
Apparently, you have to turn the infant upside down, (I may have got this wrong), while protecting its head, not dangling him or her by the feet like a prize turkey... and then you're supposed to give them five 'back blows' between the shoulder blades with the heel of your hand.
Well well. The traffic rumbled slowly on, beyond the windscreen wipers. I turned down the radio, thinking about the importance of context and answering the question of whether it's ever okay to hit a child.
Why did I say 'yowsers'? I never say 'yowsers'. What even is that? Yowsers indeed. It's the kind of thing TopCat or Yogi Bear or Mario ought to be saying, not a technical author stuck in a traffic jam.
I put on the soundtrack to Nessun Dorma and waited for the violins to soar through the intro.
"Nessun Dorma, nessun dorma!" I rumbled dramatically as though I was Andrea Bocelli*. No-one sleeps. Well you're quite right there, Mr Puccini, no one does; they're all here in this traffic jam.
"Tu pure o principessa, nella tua fredda stanza..."
A pedestrian grinned at me and gave me a cheeky thumbs up.
Yowsers, I thought and turned the stereo down.
*I doubt you'd ever see Andrea Bocelli driving a Ford Focus.
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