Malvern Road Rage

I had a day of work today which I could conduct old school, outside, no laptop, no digital drivel, I even turned off the internet, like completely, at home, because no one was around for the first time in yonks. The house lost the hum and became a calm place, quiet, but still draining the electricity from some-fucking-where. Thats life sadly.

So today I had a job of work where In get to drive around the Malverns looking at shit, making a note about it, and not getting out opf the car to do so,. I even used binoculars on two occasions, in a neighbourhood watch area with a muddy unreadable rear number plate, like some sort of calculating killing machine. All was going great and straight until the last visit, I was in Malvern, I was driving very slowly looking across a car park at a park for work business, you can guess all you like but I’m not saying. I was in my massive electronic car not paying attention and I managed to navigate the traffic and squeeze my way past a tree surgeon’s pick up to park up in the park, so as I could check my scribbled notes.

A Minute passed

Then a knock on my passenger window, a facially tattooed man with flat cap beckoned me to open the window. I did, but only marginally, he looked like a mentalist and appeared initially hostile.

 “Did you cut me off?” Almost whispering, but with capacity to ramp it up.

“um, Me, not sure, sorry, if I did, I, really?”

Did you cut me off? Simple question” (Tattoo on the side of his head and face, big scar under left eye (right for him)

“I’m not sure, sorry mate, I’m not, I wasn’t concentrating” ( Our hero is becoming increasingly comnfused at this point)

“Did you cut me off? Its a pretty easy question to answer”

(I wasn’t fully concentrating at the time while driving at about 10 fucking mph and so could have run over a Unicorn and not realised, a man with facial tattoos staring in myb car window menacingly wasnt going to help me remember anything) “Sorry mate, if I did, then I’m sorry, my work, wasn’t concentrating, sorry”

I’ve apologised loads of times and he still seems really cross, I was only driving `t 10mph, so must have done something bad.

“Cunts like you with these big fucking cars, think you own the fucking road, it was my right of way (still whispering, but with more vigour) You fucking idiot.”

At this point I’m at a loss, I’m thinking he wants a fight (i’m rubbish at that) and he’s just repeating things to me, and i’m doing the same to him. It all seems (in hindsight) like a bit of a waste of time. But …

“sorry mate, its, I , I’m sorry, I can’t remember (you’ll understand when you get to my age) I didn’t mean to cause any issues”

All the while the Radio 6 Music is playing the hits of 1978 as its the 45th anniversary of Kate Bush’s first record. And a facially tattooed man is shouting at me through my car window, open about 3 inches at the top, just enough to see his full jaw and mouth abuse me.

“Why did you cut me up?”

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition, fucking hell, I was hoping he’d go after not firmly establishing if I’d cut him off or not, I didn’t know and now he’s asking me why. Why I did something I wasn’t sure I actually did in the first place. The whole thing was becoming ridiculous, and without answers I couldn’t see where the discussion was going. This man was really cross, and I was feeling pretty vulnerable, all be it next to a play park with witnesses and my doors locked. I thought about reversing, but it would have been better if his arm was trapped in the window, then I could have swirled him around Malvern Link and poured a can of tinned tomatoes on him ( I’d been to Lidl)

“Look mate, i’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you up, I’m sorry if I did, but, I, Look I’m sorry, I, work is really getting on my tits.”

That should sort out the motley fool I thought to myself. But the bloke carried on, through the window, the scar and the tattoos gradually becoming moister, a sweat appearing, an Alpha male with a face ripe for much more decoration, plenty of space. I was still scarred but was wondering what this whole episode was achieving. I’m 51, I’ve shit to do, I’ve cars to cut up at 10mph in a town centre. Ive got faces to incise with my building site CSCS card which I’ve sharpened to deal with this type of incident (its just out of reach) 

At that point he snorted, knowing he wasn’t going to get in to Fort Knox car, and he called me a Cunt one more time


opened his door to his black BMW with those really thin tyres (like the solid rubber ones on the bikes) And zoomed off, really crossly and really loudly. Emphasising the Brumm Brumm of his black drug dealers car. Maybe he was a drug dealer, but so what, it’s not for me to know, b ut why did he have to be so nasty, so rude and intimidating. I’m a placid chap, live and let live, I shout at people in the car occasionally, we all do. But never will I get out to speak to anyone, to intimidate someone, for a 10mph incident.

I came home and had a beer, I would have had a cigarette. This awful man, scared me for 2 minutes, maybe 1 minute, but I really felt he wanted to attack me, to hurt me, but maybe because he came to the wrong side and that’s why he didn’t or couldn’t. 

Do we need this type of people,

Why do we have these type of people.

Similar questions, No to the first question, Nurture or Nature to the second question.

But really I’ve no idea… Really… No idea.


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