On Mon, 7 Aug 2006 16:53:29 +0100, Dr Zoidberg
All the ones I saw were doing 45. I pbutted some old fart in a 75 on a local road that was built by the Romans. Arrow straight for over three miles at one point with a sharp bend before and after the straight. He had been dithering up a slope through a wooded section of the road, and appeared to think the best way to take a corner was to continue around it with foot on the brake, then to try to accelerate on the straight in fifth.
So when we got to the long straight I overtook. To the accompaniment of fist shaking and light flashing from Mr Rover. I had hung back over 2s all the way through his miserable performance on the bendy bit. I signalled, overtook and then pulled back over 3s ahead of him after the overtake and there were no other vehicles in sight, no concealed entrances, nothing in the way of unusual hazards. So his anger appeared to be just moronic rage. Ten miles later the speed limit dropped to 40 and another two miles later to 30 through a village. Mr Rover reappeared, still traveling at 45 mph (ish) and then proceeded to tailgate me through the village and then eventually he lost his temper with me keeping to the 30 limit outside the church where dimwits were parking both sides of the road and milling about the church entrance.
So he pulled out without indicating and overtook me causing a couple of people to jump from the road into the verges (no footpath). Another few miles down the road it was back to NSL and as we continued along the road at 60, Mr Rover reappeared.
This time I didn't pbutt him mostly because every time we came to a straight he started to weave left-right to prevent an overtake.
Bloody nutter IMO.
Fortunately at the next major town he went right and I was heading left, and glad to see the last of him.
