with apologies to all corsa drivers
Hey you in the Corsa! You know who you are. A vision in Bay Trading’s best pastel polyester; a budget posh spice with freshly ironed hair; Coxy on the stereo; lipgloss set on stun. If you were out last night then the shades will be on and there’ll be a B&H dangling from the window - though you’re really just a social smoker who cadges late night tabs from men in Ben Sherman checks and too much cologne.
You’re driving too close to the back of my car, attracted like some kind of gaudy metal gnat - bobbing around in my exhaust stream and nudging me at roundabouts. You drive how you think a boy racer should drive, even though you only have one exhaust and a 0.28 litre engine. Why? Are you making a point? Did women chain themselves to railings for your emancipation just so you could underline it by driving pounds of lead into the atmosphere? Perhaps you just want to get to the office car park quickly so you can check your texts.
Please yourself. But bear in mind that one of these days I’ll break, and spin my car 180 degrees round so you’ll look me in the eyes, just for a second, before you plough into my bonnet. And in that second you’ll realise that these smudges of colour flitting around you actually contain other human beings, with breakable bones and delicate organs that won’t take much of your lack of attention to wipe out.
Maybe I’m saying this to you because I saw a rabbit sitting by the side of road last week with its head clean off. It was just sitting, in normal position, waiting patiently to cross the road - observing the green cross code. But it had no head. I assume its final moments went fast. But that’s not the point.
It’s more likely I’m hating you as I hate everyone today. I’m hating this whole week of unexpected emotional ups and downs. Because Cher was great and someone else would have loved it too. And because the Chelsea flower show is on television, which means the kettle’s on as Alan Titchmarsh is best accompanied by a cup of tea and a bag of malteasters for some reason and I’m going out and calling “Bye! See you later!” to the living room. And because the doll in my dream this morning couldn’t speak any more and fell apart in my hands. Though it’s wonderful when the person you love is there to kiss it better when you wake up, sometimes you can’t help but cry when Corsa drivers cut you up on the way to work.