Northampton has the most dangerous drivers in the world. Either that or someone is serious about my assassination. So, this is what happened.
A few weeks ago, before the broken ankle debacle, I was walking with a trolley in the supermarket carpark. They are currently tarting the place up. It’s hard to see quite what the difference is. Perhaps some new pink paint. The level of inconvenience is quite disproportionate to the impact of the final ‘reveal’. You get all excited for not very much. Bit like that scene in The Night Manager. After hearing so much about it and buying the DVD, it was all a bit flat and I still prefer Colin Firth.
Anyway, I was walking with my trolley and this car turned into the park I was already walking through. The lady driving looked straight at me and carried on. Yes, she carried on – straight into my trolley with me still attached. Then she carried on some more, with me still attached. I pondered . Was I about to be squashed into the new pink paint? What a shame when it was all so clean and shiny. The only good bit ruined already. I decided I should probably shout. So I did, about the same time as her husband in the passenger seat. She stopped. Finally. Then she leant out the window and told me I should get out of the way, not very politely, and that it was my own fault. Her husband hid. He looked as though he did that a lot. It was quite a habitual move. In fact, his body looked slightly adapted through the regularity of the gesture. I am sure some archeologist will dig him up in 500 years and state how his pronounced bone development on that side of his body and obvious neck strain indicates the likelihood of a rather embarrassing wife. I will not go into the details of my response. I am not sure some of the words I used actually exist. Maybe I read them on Facebook. It’s so educational.
So I pushed my trolley bravely onward, and joined the pedestrian walk way (you know, one of those coloured paths added to carparks in a clearly futile attempt to avoid multiple deaths by flattening). I became aware of a 4×4 thing coming towards me. The man was looking down, clearly texting, or perhaps learning vocabulary on Facebook. He did look up as he piled into my trolley, with me attached. It really does take longer to stop a 4×4 as my little dabble into car safety experimentation proved. I would rather there had been a dummy on the receiving end and a video might have been fun so we could rewatch the gory bits. At least this one was polite. He looked a little shell shocked. I wonder what his insurance is like I thought and could I get my shopping for free? I wonder if Asda and Sainsburys have comparison food baskets based on pedestrian safety. Yes – this trolley can stop a car at 30 miles an hour. Take out the potatoes and it will stop a car at 20.
The last straw was today. I came out of my physiotherapist. Its a well known place with it’s subtle window display of a skeleton on a bike, currently dressed as a witch. I was on crutches, hobbling along. I needed to cross the road to my lift. I moved forward into the road, but I’m a bit slow and so cars start to appear as I can’t get across quickly enough. What would you do? Stop and let me cross? Oh no! This is Northampton! We get points for collisions here, and extra ones for mangling the incapacitated. So they drive round me, literally swinging out into the other side of the road. 5 of them in a row. I keep going determinedly, wondering when I’m going to get hit. You can imagine their insurance claim: “I was driving along when this injured woman on crutches leapt at high speed, and unexpectedly, from the physiotherapists into the road. ..”
Then at school, my eldest has had a clown turning up in the playground this week trying to terrorise the children. The school has been in lock down, gun patrols on the gates. So explain to me why people try and run me over, but he’s still running wild? There is no such thing as Karma.