It is a nice afternoon, but I have no time to dawdle.
I am running a little late to pick up Child #1 from school. Again!!! Anybody would think that her arrival home is not the sunshine-drenched peak of my day.
The lane is single-track; it pootles along through farmland and coppices. I drive happily, listening to the hard-hitting sounds of Steve Wright in the Afternoon.
Ahead of me, I can see a Range Rover emerging tentatively from one of the tracks that leads on to the fields. The road is narrow at this point, and the track joins it at a slightly acute angle. The driver misjudges this a little and thus requires two attempts to turn, which means that they are stationary and blocking the road by the time I reach them. Not being in my enormous old gas-guzzling 4×4, I do not have the option to drive up on to the banked verge to give way.
The other driver, who turns out to be H.M. The Queen, looks a little sheepish at this. I am also a little foxed. It is my right of way in the big scheme of things, but then it is her highway. Fortunately, H.M. The Queen clearly feels the same, and turns to her companion in the passenger seat with one of those universal ‘oh dear, I really buggered up that manoeuvre’ embarrassed little laughs. She then grapples awkwardly with the steering wheel, and pulls the Range Rover up onto the verge to let me through.
I draw past, giving her a little fellow-driver ‘we’ve all been there’ wave of acknowledgement. I imagine that she was probably distracted by the non-stop oldies or suchlike. It is good to know that with all the talk of road rage etc. etc. there is still a little courtesy amongst our drivers.