I am a safe and careful driver. I hate people who drive dangerously, I hate bad, oblivious, drivers and I firmly believe there is a special place in Hell for drink drivers.
That being said, I’ve felt a wave of antagonism towards speed cameras building this week.
Some bright spark at the local council has been given a number of temporary speed notification devices, and made the dubious decision to site one on the street where I live. It’s not a very sophisticated piece of kit, it displays your speed and flashes a helpful message, “SLOW DOWN”… Whatever speed you’re doing.
So I find myself shouting such things as, “I don’t need to fupping slow down, I’m only doing 13 miles a fupping hour” and also accelerating harder than normal to see what speed I can achieve in the 100 yards between my house and the device. It’s not healthy.
This morning I was oh so very tempted to run full pelt with the pram to see what its lower speed detection limit is. I’ve also got half a mind to put my best running shoes on and see just how fast this just-about-still-a-twenty-something can go. But then I’d probably tear a stomach muscle or something (as I always used to do on my beer-fuelled runs in my younger days), and that’s not clever in contest season.