She's happy to
AO Platinum Member
Join Date: Jan 2001
Location: United Kingdom
Cliveden House has an air of notoriety to it, due to the Profumo affair of the 1960s. But like all things that possess true dignity, it’s proved to be bigger than that event, and today you sense it’s enjoying its more fitting role as a rather splendid National Trust property.
Access to the house comes via a rather gracious loose white gravel drive. It’s about 200 metres long, and very wide, as befits a grand arrival at a sumptuous house.
However, the drive way is a shared space; there are vehicles on it, young couples pushing child buggies, others walking dogs, and the elders supported by families or by walking sticks; therefore, the entrance carries a sensible speed limit of 15mph - apt for the environment, apt for the house and apt for the folks meandering on the road. It’s all rather appropriately civilised.
Until an oik turns up.
In this case, an oik in a 3 Series. The warning signs were there early on. A number plate with letters and numbers moved to spell his name (and like all of them, it read TO**ER)
Then there was the obligatory ‘M’ badge on what was clearly a stock 3er diesel. But - and possibly you have seen this fashion too - one of the front kidneys (maybe even his own kidney) had the ‘M’ colours painted on it from top to bottom. A fake of a fake M? Such delusion is oddly admirable.
Less admirable, was how on loose gravel, with people (ah, an audience!) all around him - young couples with kids, families, dogs, the elders, etc - he decided to race toward the house and test his traction control by booting the throttle, spinning the rear wheels and spitting stones, dust, debris and diesel muck right into what had been - until then - a perfectly serene environment. He got the attention of his audience, that’s for sure. What word did his number plate spell again? Ah, yes...
But what I have discovered in life is this; where there is one c05k monkey, sadly, you’ll usually find another. And our second moron showed up less than two seconds later. Bring on the garishly coloured, anti socially styled Ford Ranger Raptor. This moron went one step further than our ‘M’ series driver, booting the throttle so hard that not only did he get the stones spitting everywhere and dust gagging everyone, he got into a sideways skid; that’s the driving behaviour he thought was appropriate on a 15mph road, occupied by people and dogs wandering around.
I am convinced that no matter where you are in the UK today - no matter how pleasant or civilised - you are never more than five seconds away from your path crossing with that of a major bellend.
Or, if you’re really unlucky, two of them.
A driver is always faithful to a car that's always faithful to its driver.
Sometimes in the darkest hour, love comes shining through.
Then it doesn't seem so far from me to you.