Our Lady of the Shit-Scared Cyclist

Benignly watching over that long uphill stretch* with no cycle track.

Oy, you, Mr navy blue BMW 320CI with the 03D reg. You may not know who you are. But I do.
That's twice that you zoom past me with a clearance of 3 millimeters.
I really hate to feel that wind of moronic annihilation rattling my bike, my arse, and more importantly my camera bag.
The hi-vis yellow belt that I wear is not a fashion statement. I know that it complements my yellow teeth but I mostly wear it so that accelerator-challenged cretins like you can see me from a distance.
So that you can make an informed decision when you see:
a- a cyclist in front of you
b- a car coming in the opposite direction
It is not written anywhere in the Highway Code that you can shove me off the rode.
And as there is barely enough space for my bike, the car coming downhill and your revving penis extension on that stretch of road, the LAW says that you have to slow down, and overtake once the other car has driven past.
Because the obstacle (big shaggin sweaty me) is on YOUR side of the road.
If you don't kill me next time, I'll catch up with you at the next set of traffic lights. And I'll kick your imitation M3 left mirror clean off.
And that will just be me warming up.

I am a pretty happy go lucky sort of guy. And I don't believe in gratuitous aggression. But a fright brings out the Hulk in me...

* downhill in the morning, on my way in to work, a miracle of science I have never fully understood but always thoroughly appreciated