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@bigpaintbrush
Motorbikes. I've never had trouble with them. In fact I've always seen them as my benevolent yet noisy, fume and plume emitting two wheeled cousin. We don't wave or nod at each other or anything like that, but we're cool. Until today that is. Turning right on to Roman Road from Grove Road, I had to give way to oncoming traffic and stop in the middle of the crossroads. Never my favourite place to be on the road, but hey, there was a nice little box painted on the road with an arrow pointing right clearly demarcating the area I should plonk my bike when attempting such a manoeuvre. I felt I was on safe ground. At the head of the oncoming traffic was my distant relative, the motorcyclist. I noticed instantly that this particular member of the cycle genus seemed rather cross. Lots of Evil Knievel waspish style revving noises were coming from his lazy-cycle. Rather than zipping by and leaving the usual respectful (to life and the living) gap between me and his 1200cc shit box, this particular duo wheeled dipstick decided to accelerate like a cern particle diagonally towards me, brushing my side and forcing me to bail left and find myself standing in the middle of the crossroads on one leg, bike on the ground, right leg still in my clip. We made eye contact, and his eyes simply said 'fuck you and die'. Dumbfounded I turned to see him disappear at a million miles an hour on his glorified wrist powered mobility scooter. Fuck that guy. Seriously, fuck you yellow helmeted, too fast to read your registration number, damn I wish my bike could go that fast but I'd probably kill myself if it did, no longer cousin of mine. Cunt.