Friday, March 14, 2008

If there’s two lanes, and you want to go straight on at a roundabout, you should be in the left lane. Those are the rules, or rule as probably a singular one of them is called.

Like with most roundabout approaches, the roundabout I'm going to talk about today( in what may very well be the first in a series of roundabout anecdotes that may later turn into a book and possibly a feature film starring Cher ) never has a queue in the right-hand lane. I don’t have the first idea as to what you'll see or experience if you take the right hand turn at the roundabout. What I do know is that it isn’t attracting the kind of crowds that straight on is.

So in effect every work day, I like most others, am dismissing the ever present opportunity of turning right. Like a sheep, my only priority on my journeys to work is heading towards the office I work in. I say ‘like a sheep’, I’m of course referring to a sheep that can drive and hold down a job at an engineering firm; and to be fair I don’t know that an actual sheep with these attributes would behave in this way. Maybe there’s something to the right that would be of particular interest to sheep and thus if they could drive, they’d be abandoning nine to five drudgery in search of the good shit on the right-side.

Day after day, stuck in that queue on the left, waiting for my turn to do the straight on thing at the roundabout. And there’s nothing more annoying than seeing some twat-faced twat-head drive their BMW down the right hand lane, hitting the roundabout laneage and then cutting in so’s to go straight on. Everyday these people ( and possibly the more career centred of the sheep ) save themselves ninety seconds with their rule-breaking roundabout devience.

And what do these people do with those extra ninety seconds? Do they draw money out of a cash machine and give it to a homeless person called George? Do they write a poem about the Second World War? Do they take an extra moment out of their day, stick on the Princess Diana version of ’Candle in the Wind’ and think about whether they’re living their life in the way in which Queen of Hearts would of wanted? No, of course they don’t; they spend their extra ninety seconds composing an email addressed to ‘everyone_ever’ entitled ’Unacceptable’.

Well at least I can sleep at night. That’s nothing to do with what I’ve just said above. I’m just trying not to take falling asleep for granted.

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