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As always, cookies for reference-spotters..
Another day, another work trip. As I've caned most of my 15,000 mile annual allowance for my lovely shiny red Giulietta, I'm with a sales colleague in his extra-shiny Jaguar. Yes, he is a salesman who earns a lot of money, but is a nice chap and definitely earns it.
We're proceeding in a westerly direction along the M25, and colleague is leaning on the Loud Pedal, as he intends to get there early enough for coffee and McBreakfast before going to site. Traffic is impeding this ambition, so we're down to about 45mph, and the variable speed limits are in (about which, nothing but Fratching. "Motorway Control are off their meds!")
We notice the car in front of us (in lane 4 of 4) isn't keeping up and a large gap is appearing in front. Then we notice a steady drift across toward the lines. Now, over here in Blighty, we use thick line paint, thick enough that they can corrugate the centre line, so drifting into it causes a BRRRT that wakes you up. Our little friend received just such a BRRRT, and that's when I, as co-pilot, navigator, pretty girl detection officer, aircon monitor, cop spotter, and the other jobs that come with "shotgun!" privilege, noticed the driver was:
a) female
b) blonde
and, being the relevant bit, c) on her mobile phone. As in, handset to ear.
Outraged, I relayed this vital nugget to my colleague, who had previously tried to explain the lack of speed as:
a) driver is a cheesewit
b) driver has forgotten what the pedal on the right does
c) driver is in possession of a car that could not pull the skin off a rice pudding
d) driver is his ex, and is taunting him.
Upon receipt of this new information, we agreed that Something Must Be Done.
I pulled my phone out, and held it up as if to take a picture, where our errant friend would see it next time she looked in her rear view mirror. Colleague applied a hefty flash of the main beam lights, to make sure she did look.
She looked. She wobbled a bit, and moved across into lane 3 to let us pass, and pulled back out behind us, without once removing the phone from her ear, despite me very visibly tracking her with my mobile.
Then- a blue miracle occurred. All the way across in lane 1, going maybe 10mph slower than us, is a police traffic car. We carry on past him, note him moving out into lane 2, then 3, then, as he pulled out into lane 4, the blue fury of the Metropolitan Police was unleashed.
Blonde lady, initially moving into lane 3 to make way for an emergency vehicle, soon discovered her error. As they vanished into the rear view mirror, Constable Friendly was guiding her over to the hard shoulder for, hopefully, a class 1 chewing out and a £100 ticket, plus 3 penalty points.
Colleague and I both had recited the motorists prayer ("please let him not be after me") and so gave thanks to the gods of car-ma, bluetooth, hands-free phone systems, and voice dialling.
Another day, another work trip. As I've caned most of my 15,000 mile annual allowance for my lovely shiny red Giulietta, I'm with a sales colleague in his extra-shiny Jaguar. Yes, he is a salesman who earns a lot of money, but is a nice chap and definitely earns it.
We're proceeding in a westerly direction along the M25, and colleague is leaning on the Loud Pedal, as he intends to get there early enough for coffee and McBreakfast before going to site. Traffic is impeding this ambition, so we're down to about 45mph, and the variable speed limits are in (about which, nothing but Fratching. "Motorway Control are off their meds!")
We notice the car in front of us (in lane 4 of 4) isn't keeping up and a large gap is appearing in front. Then we notice a steady drift across toward the lines. Now, over here in Blighty, we use thick line paint, thick enough that they can corrugate the centre line, so drifting into it causes a BRRRT that wakes you up. Our little friend received just such a BRRRT, and that's when I, as co-pilot, navigator, pretty girl detection officer, aircon monitor, cop spotter, and the other jobs that come with "shotgun!" privilege, noticed the driver was:
a) female
b) blonde
and, being the relevant bit, c) on her mobile phone. As in, handset to ear.
Outraged, I relayed this vital nugget to my colleague, who had previously tried to explain the lack of speed as:
a) driver is a cheesewit
b) driver has forgotten what the pedal on the right does
c) driver is in possession of a car that could not pull the skin off a rice pudding
d) driver is his ex, and is taunting him.
Upon receipt of this new information, we agreed that Something Must Be Done.
I pulled my phone out, and held it up as if to take a picture, where our errant friend would see it next time she looked in her rear view mirror. Colleague applied a hefty flash of the main beam lights, to make sure she did look.
She looked. She wobbled a bit, and moved across into lane 3 to let us pass, and pulled back out behind us, without once removing the phone from her ear, despite me very visibly tracking her with my mobile.
Then- a blue miracle occurred. All the way across in lane 1, going maybe 10mph slower than us, is a police traffic car. We carry on past him, note him moving out into lane 2, then 3, then, as he pulled out into lane 4, the blue fury of the Metropolitan Police was unleashed.
Blonde lady, initially moving into lane 3 to make way for an emergency vehicle, soon discovered her error. As they vanished into the rear view mirror, Constable Friendly was guiding her over to the hard shoulder for, hopefully, a class 1 chewing out and a £100 ticket, plus 3 penalty points.
Colleague and I both had recited the motorists prayer ("please let him not be after me") and so gave thanks to the gods of car-ma, bluetooth, hands-free phone systems, and voice dialling.