Sunday Bloody Sunday Drivers

For various reasons, this weekend hasn't been the best I can remember and as a result I was looking forward to attending the West Ham v Boro match, primarily as a way to let off steam and yell loud things at people who don't care (as opposed to be being yelled at by people who don't care). There was the slight encumbrance of having my mum as associate meaning that obscenities would have to be kept to those that she would have no chance of understanding (but unfortunately the stewards might) or else muttered quietly defeating the whole purpose of venting fury.

Usually this merry trip is accomplished via bus as I have enough of driving during the week and the route to WHU is easy for me via bus whereas the route by road is hell. But the gods were not smiling on me and I was informed that it would have to be car, and me driving. Bugger. Another reason why I chose not to drive to footie recently is that I hadn't mentioned to Ma & Pa the incident a few months ago when a van clumped the side of the car and I was too shocked to chase after and get details. Having mum as a passenger meant that I had to outline what happened just when I had started to feel OK about it. Joy oh joy.

But what the hell had they put in the air today - I was cut up, nearly reversed into on the roundabout, had a parking space swiped just as I was about to reverse into it which made me temporarily forget that I had Justified & Ancient in the car and proceeded to vehemently swear and shout at the bloke - only to be faced with a raised eyebrow of disapproval and of course the need to then have to reverse parallel park into the space from Hades. Helpfully J&A decided to get out and stand on the edge of the blind spot whilst I parked - meaning that she was perfectly able to lip read me muttering "move out of the way you stupid woman" . I'm sure she realised I'm stressed.

Match was fine - we won, I'm no longer a football jonah but the joy of driving back was just as thrilling going home - people blocking roads whilst trying to do a u-turn, milliseconds from my wing, again leaving me to mutter various phrases that may have been new to my passenger - I did pride myself on self control when a car mistook my failure to move up to the bumper of the car in front as an incitement to turn and almost hit me. That the phrase "fucking moron from gitville" got altered to "flipping" was a plus. The distinct minus was when a Chelsea Tractor decided that waiting to turn left wasn't his cup of tea and that he'd swerve on the wrong side of the road as I was turning right and wriggle on through and I uttered the rarely used term of "Jesus Christ on a bike, what a bastard". "Surely in a car would be more correct" was the frosty response.

That's it - I don't care how inconvenient it is to justified & Ancient, I'm going by bus next match and may well considered alcohol & fags as an optional extra to the whole "football" experience since I've managed to breech the non-swearing rule fairly well.