.. but then he did sort of apologise. So that’s alright then.
No, actually, it bloody isn’t. Riding past the exact same spot where some old fella parked his Mercedes on my nose this time last year, this guy gave the give way a miss and instead tried to hit me. Well, to be fair, he wasn’t really trying as his attention was focussed on the far more important mobile phone conversation he was having.
“Yeah sorry Nigel, just drove clean through this cyclist, he’s still moving tho so once I’ve cleared his broken body from under my wheels, we’ll do lunch, yeah? Have your people call my people, Capish?”
Had I not taken radical avoiding action involving a traffic island and a sharp intake of breath, they’d have been blood on the tarmac. As I swung in an ever widening arc to avoid the front of his one handed cavalier entrance to the Mall, he finally noticed either my concerned gesticulations or spluttering vernacular.
“Sorry mate, didn’t see you there” he offered in spite of my plethora of lights and reflective clothing. I look like a mobile gas excavation and possibly smell a little like one too after this morning’s one second shower. I had sufficient breath left to quietly explain that if he wouldn’t mind “putting his fucking phone down and looking where he was sodding well going” this may never have happened.
“Oh if that’s your bloody attitude then mate, you can fuck off“. Just to be clear, this anti-apology was from Mr. Knobhead. Yes I was wronged but he still felt he was right – personality defect or caring new century?
He roared off in a frenzy of tyre smoke and testosterone leaving me wondering if apologies speak louder than actions. After grudgingly saying sorry, he couldn’t believe that I’d still be upset – after all, he’d not actually killed me only had a damn good attempt.
World’s gone mad. Time to leave the planet.