IN WHICH I REALISE I COULD DO WITH A CHAUFFEUR

I got beeped on a roundabout yesterday. My own fault - not really sure where I was going so I was sliding between lanes. You’d be surprised at how angry people get at that kind of thing.

Well. Perhaps you wouldn’t. Perhaps you too would have sounded a long raspy note on the klaxon as the car in front (me) drifted dangerously towards you. I don’t blame you.

There was a time when I’d have been cut up about that kind of thing. I’d have been mortified at making somebody cross. I wasn’t the kind of boy who could push the pedestrian-crossing button and then run off as the lights went red. Anyone slowing to a stop could have wound down a window and hurled abuse at me - and that would not have been as funny as other kids found it. I took that stuff personally.

I’m not so bashful these days. I realised I was in the wrong on the roundabout and raised a hand (the universal gesture of apology acknowledgement) as I peeled off onto the exit. Then I just drove to where I was going and thought no more of it.

Maybe I’m just used to road-rage these days. I do sometimes drive too slowly because I’m thinking about something deep, and, yes, plenty of fingers have passed me on the driver’s side, I can tell you. Big old world in a big old hurry. Why can’t you see that thinking is more important than driving?

That’s why driverless cars seem like a great idea for people like me - I’d have time to think. I know there’ are safety concerns, not to mention the complex legal picture, but nevertheless, I like the idea of someone else (yes, even a robot) driving me around and taking all that stress out of the equation.

Well anyway. Beepity beep beep beep. I don’t really mind if you think any the less of me by the way, for being one of those annoying drivers who gets in the way. I genuinely don’t mind. You do you. I’m safe enough, and I doubt I can stop thinking deeply, though to be fair, I ought to try. And it’s not all the time! It’s only every now and again it happens!

It occurs to me that what I really need, at least until they’ve figured out auto-car-pods, is a chauffeur who doesn’t mind me philosophising or daydreaming from the back seat. Drive on, Errol! For I am composing an essay on wheelie bin etiquette followed by theological reasons not to eat black pudding.

Very good, sir.