My thoughts on a page.

So, it’s been way too long since we chatted. Now that I’m not writing my column in the Examiner, I seem to never get the chance to go online to blog. You’ll be pleased to know I am working away on my memoir and it’s going ok. I’ll post our October diaries in the next few days so you can keep up to date on all the latest in our writing journey. However, in the meantime I thought I’d let off a little steam as I share with you my anti men rant.

Of course, it’s not all men, just those feckers who become obnoxious when they drive…

My first encounter with one such a speci(men) took place yesterday while collecting my daughters car. It had been fixed up, good as new and stored in a yard behind a large set of gates. As I thanked the mechanic and wandered into the yard to pick it up, a fancy black, almost brand new Mercedes pulled up and stopped a little left of the gates. Unfortunately, not left enough for me to drive out.

Knowing the driver probably hadn’t seen me get into my car, I drove out as far as I could and waited a moment, hoping he might spot me. He didn’t. A little peeved I went in to the reception, smiled beautifully, and asked him could he move his car as I couldn’t get out. My expected reply from him was, ‘No bother,” possibly accompanied by a return of my dazzling smile. Instead, he gawped at me as if I was speaking in tongues. So, I repeated my request.

“Who are you talking to? Me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why? Where are you?” he said.

“Through the gates, in the yard.”

He shook his head as if I was a moron. I returned his ‘you’re a moron’ look with my ‘for fecks sake’ one, turned theatrically and walked out to my car, hoping he was following. My expected outcome was he would come out, (in the lashing rain) and move his car. Well, he did come out, but instead of getting into his car he walked around to the passenger side to see if I was wrong and check if it was because I was a woman that I could not drive past. On seeing it was indeed a very narrow gap, which a motor bike might have struggled through, he got into his car and reversed out of my way.

Men! I thought, and I remained in a rather anti men-in-cars mood for the day.

Make that two days, as today I got beeped at!

Now I am just back from New York (yes what a trip!) and there was nothing but beeping all day long, but here in Ireland, a beep is a lot less common. I was waiting to cross traffic, when an oncoming car stopped to let another car out of a garage. It left a nice gap, which I decided to make use of. I made my way across the road, with no drama, but, on reaching the other side I heard a beep. Yes, a beep. For me! From the fecker who a car had politely stopped for, in order to give him the chance to get out of the garage! He wasn’t even close to me and I didn’t hold him up in any way.

So, why did he even bother beeping me?

The fecker. The rage.

Of course I can’t actually be sure it was a man…