The Dawdler: a short story by @FailCar

Recently I engaged in a short but engaging Twitter conversation with the criminally under followed @FailCar. It followed a comment by me after I had the audacity and nerve to overtake a slow moving Golf on a straight bit of B-road near my home. Immediately following my criminal act of mirror, signal, overtake, I was greeted with the flashing of headlights and the shaking of fist. Seriously, I could have expected less of a reaction if I'd dropped her cat into next door's wheelie bin. As pointed out by the excellent @IamSimonHarris, if the lady spent more time trying to locate her accelerator pedal and less time on the flashers, we'd all get along much better.

There seems to be a set of drivers out there who are hellbent on ruining a good drive in the countryside. They make it their duty to hold you up, willfully choosing to ignore road conditions and other users as they stick religiously to a speed of 37.5 mph. More often than not, these drivers will be at the wheel of a Honda Jazz, Toyota Yaris, Nissan Note, Hyundai i10 or Vauxhall Corsa.

The excellent @FailCar, (did I mention he is criminally under followed?), seemingly shares my frustration and promptly prepared this short story on his experience with what he calls 'Dawdlers'. He turned this out in a matter of minutes and it is presented here for you to enjoy.

You know the set up. Driving down a particularly clear bit of B-road you’re on your own, no cars behind no cars in front. You’re not exactly excessively speeding, you’re just making good progress. The weather is nice you have a good tune on, but oh what’s that at the junction barely 100m in front of you? It appears to be a Nissan Note pulling out to halt your progress.

Why in the name of sanity did you do that? Why pull out? Why not just wait an agonising four seconds until I have driven past? But here's the other thing, the blanket 50mph speed limits that have popped up on our country roads mean that Mr Note is intent on doing 43mph on a road that was previously good for 60+. However, Mr Note is not adverse to dangerous, excessive speed.

Upon entering a village with a 30mph limit you slow down. Children are playing, the fete is on and in most cases anyway you fully support 30mph zones. Mr Note however does not. He continues on his merry way at 43mph, an unsafe speed given the conditions and the fact that Mr Note’s vision is somewhat impaired, as he passed his driving test in 1923. As you see him zing off ahead you’re forehead begins to warm, that’s it now, the blood is reaching boiling point.

You’re through the village, back into the 50 limit, and of course you have caught up with him. You’re not some Suzuki gixxer power-ranger nutter intent on overtaking on a blind bend. You wait, and now approaching a clear ½ mile straight it’s time to overtake, the first safe, clear stretch you have seen in a while. You downshift, the revs rise fast and...you slam the middle pedal.

There’s a layby alongside the straight and just visible on this clear summer day is the recognisable rear profile of a battenberg Vauxhall Vivaro waiting intently for someone to come speeding down this ‘dangerous’ clear, straight bit of road. Up shifting you pull back in and curse the rear of the Note and its stupid little shiny ‘Pure Drive’ badge. Yeah, you’ve never been above 43mph in your life, if you did you would probably peel off. You decide at the next opportunity Mr Note is going down.

It’s now dusk, and the next opportunity to overtake is coming up, you know this because you have driven down this road one-thousand times. You down shift, pull out and instantly you are blinded. A Honda Jazz coming in the opposite direction is furiously flashing his lights because you are committing the cardinal sin of overtaking. Managing to adjust your eyes you slip in front of Mr Note, you see his lights flashing in your rear view mirror to inform you of his disapproval of your lethal behaviour. Purple dots are everywhere, but you don’t care, you just owned Mr Note, ecstatic you see another bright light. It would appear you're dead.

Turns out while blinded, distracted and frustrated by Mr Note you kinda hit a tree, and there you are looking down (or up...) at him, and Mr Jazz informing the police of how you were driving like a lunatic. Case closed, Mr Note goes on to ride another day, adding you to his tally book, the silent assassin.

You can follow the criminally under followed @FailCar at twitter.com/FailCar. That's if he's still alive and not incandescent with rage.