Road Rage

It’s the oldest law of the road – no matter what you’re doing, everyone else is an idiot.

Behind the wheel, you are a monarch of metal, a sovereign of the slip road. And yet – pedestrians ruin it. Especially the one who, with sniper-like timing, presses the button at the crossing just as you approach, forcing you into a brake-slam and a low-level aneurysm. Cyclists? They’re just mobile road cones in luminous Lycra. But the real secret – the thing we don’t admit – is that you also hate every other car driver. Too slow, too fast, in your way, cutting you up, taking “your” parking space. It’s loathing on four wheels.

Step out of the car and onto the pavement, though, and suddenly you see the world afresh. Cars are killing machines piloted by maniacs, and cyclists are kamikaze warriors who appear silently at your shoulder before dinging a bell like a passive-aggressive butler.

Then, astride the noble bicycle, you become the most persecuted creature on Earth. Pedestrians are zombies wandering into cycle lanes, clutching their lattes as if they’ve paid rent on the pavement. Car drivers are homicidal juggernauts whose only aim is to shave your kneecaps at 50 mph.

And yet – you’ve been all three. You’ve pressed the button, you’ve dinged the bell, you’ve cut someone up. The problem isn’t the car, or the bike, or the footpath. The problem is us. We change uniforms like football fans switching ends at half-time – whichever team we’re on, the other side are all villains.

Maybe the solution is compulsory rotation. One hour a day driving, one hour walking, one hour cycling. By bedtime you’d hate everyone equally – and that’s probably the most honest traffic policy Britain will ever have.