Scoot

Wandering about waiting to pick Mel up from the train station.

Not long after I had a chat with a guy in Waverley about taking photos with my SLR. I must look like a terrorist. Anyway, he was actually really pleasant about it, trading the time to explain and talk, even if it does still feel a little sledgehammer etc.


Earlier, riding home, I got shouted at by a taxi driver. The only reason I can make out is because I was on a bike, and not in a bike lane that doesn't exist (he either told me I should be in a bike lane, of which there isn't one on that street; or told me that where I was riding wasn't a bike lane, of which I was perfectly aware, it was a road, where I'm allowed to be).

Here's the thing, I'm cycling perfectly legally, where I'm allowed to be, not getting in the way, not delaying him (I was going a different direction after the lights, and anyway the car at the front of the queue didn't notice the lights change so delayed him where I didn't), and yet he deliberately edged his bonnet closer and closer to me to try to intimidate me (cos I get really intimidated by diabetes-candidate eejits), winds down his window, shouts vaguely incoherently. And yet it's me, because I'm 'on a bike' who is the person in the wrong.


I was actually only trialling that street as an alternative to a stramash of lights as well.


I've a very sweary rant brewing on just who is the danger on the roads (after the taxi pillock seeing two drivers on their mobile, a white van and a taxi completely blow a red, get overtaken on a blind corner, have another taxi execute a three point turn right in front of me without looking, and have every single driver I saw in the 20 zone near my house breaking the speed limit - it was that kind of commute - I'm not in the mood for being told by some moron that I'm a danger to him in his metal box).