Just occasionally I get mad. As in Saturday, when darling daughter and I were driving down the track to the road and came across a large branch that had come down across the road.
This is the photo after daughter and I had worked hard to clear the track. Daughter got back in the car because the eucalyptus gave her hay-fever – so I was standing in the middle of the remaining canopy when our neighbour’s car came bombing over the hill, veered around our car and ploughed through the remaining branches.
Apart from the stomach-churning fear I experienced, wondering whether their car was going to run up the back of our car (our car, containing our daughter), and the natural nervousness I experienced as I jumped out of the way when their car blitzed through the remaining branches, there was also my self-righteous English chagrin about the sheer lack of manners.
“Hi, do you need any help there?” “Oops, we can’t stop – but I’ll give someone a call to lend you a hand!” “OMG! I’m so sorry I nearly ran you over!” “Gee that was close… next time I’ll make sure I round the corner at a more reasonable speed…”
Or not, as the case may be. Grrr.