Yes, I know I’m always banging on about Sunday Drivers. I can’t help it. They are the bane of my existence. So here we go again….
Christmas is coming. I know this, not because of the tinsel or the fairy lights or the fact that the radio is playing Fairytale in New York over and over again, but because the Sunday Drivers are out midweek. Yes, in the run up to Christmas Sunday Drivers actually leave their bungalows to venture out into the big wide world. The only other occasions during the year that they travel midweek are for their MOTs, doctor’s appointments and visits to the crematorium. (Not usually in their own car though.)
Anyway, earlier this week I was stuck behind two Sunday Drivers (a group outing obviously) travelling at 40 mph on an A Road (60 mph speed limit). Usually when this happens I have to suppress the desire to conduct daring and suicidal overtaking manoeuvres. However, on this occasion my first thoughts were…
When are the last posting dates?
Do I have time to buy Christmas cards?
Have I got last year’s Christmas cards I didn’t send? (Yes.)
Where are the Christmas decorations?
Where is the key to the loft?
Could I actually get in the loft without being buried alive?
How long would it take to launch a search and rescue mission if I didn’t return from the loft within 24 hrs?
How long could I survive nibbling on tinsel and waxworks of baby Jesus?
Do miracles happen??
You see, I know from years of experience that Christmas is getting dangerously close when Sunday Drivers have propped open their garage doors with their crutches and fired up their Ford Cortinas. The reason they do this is because… they are about to pay their annual visit to the butchers to pre-order their Christmas turkey.
Yep, a Sunday Driver must have a Christmas turkey and woe betide any Sunday Driver that does not have a turkey because Christmas is not Christmas without a thirty five pound turkey, spuds and some lukewarm Brussel sprouts.
By the way, the pre-ordered turkey is the one which the Sunday Driver will later collect at precisely 9.05am on Christmas Eve causing massive congestion in all town centres across the whole nation. This is because all those poor people who work and who only have Christmas Eve to collect their turkey will also be in town collecting their turkeys. If ever there was a time for the Second Coming this would be it. God wouldn’t have to worry about the nation being entranced by a rerun of Morecombe and Wise or the X factor final he’d just look down from the heavens and see the whole nation queued up patiently waiting for the butchers to open at 9 am on Christmas Eve. Easy pickings for conversion.
Hey, People! Who fancies a trip to heaven or a three hour wait behind the Sunday Driver with the wind problem?
I know what I’d chose.
Okay, I know some of you are thinking that one day Mrs T will be a Sunday Driver and then I will get my comeuppance. However, I have it on extremely good authority from Captain Kirk that by the year 2030 when I am 65 years old transporters will be the mode of transport and turkeys will be extinct. I will therefore be able to zap myself into the local pharmacy for some genetically engineered mutant turkey look-a-like flavoured supplements without inconveniencing anyone at all during the run up to Christmas.
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| “Beam me to the Pharmacy, Scottie. And don’t forget to make it at the front of the queue!” (By the way that’s a pom pom hat on my head – it’s what old people wear on their heads in the UK. Unless they’re from Scotland where mostly they wear tartan berets- except when they’re at a football match when they just put their kilts over their heads.) |
Well that’s it for today. I am off to order a turkey.
Ps I made that stuff up about hats and the Scots. Everything else on this blog is completely true.
