Cyclists in this city can be total arse-wipes.
A cyclist jumps a red light.
Does anyone care? Probably not, the drivers may tut.
A cyclist jumps a red light while a lady is crossing the road.
The lady grumbles to herself.
Six cyclists jump a red red light while a lady is crossing the road.
The lady gets caught up in a mass of bikes, she has to stop to avoid being hit from either side and is pretty annoyed.
Six cyclists jump a red light while a lady and her five year-old son are crossing the road.
The lady and child have to stop midway across the road, the child is scared and both are stressed and the lady shouts something like “Hey, watch out!”
Six cyclists jump a red light while a lady and her 5 year old son with downsyndrome cross the road (the boy is skipping happily holding his mum’s hand)
The lady has a meltdown in the middle of the road after her son is nearly hit by a bike, she yells out “what the hell is going on here? Can’t you see the lights?! It’s fucking DANGEROUS! For fuck’s sake!
I had noted the skipping of the lad and smiled to myself as I waited at the red light (I remember skipping along before I got too old for it to be cute) and some moments later focused on the scene on the other side of the road. I raised an eyebrow but I applaud this lady for standing up for herself and child even though the swearing could in theory have been avoided, she must have a hard enough task in hand even before turds on pushbikes go trying to knock the pair of them down like bowling balls. It has become all too common for cyclists to think that it’s OK to jump lights, or manoeuvre without signalling or even checking their surroundings, that it’s perfectly dandy to forgo lights at night time and weave all over the road, so incredibly engrossed are they in themselves and their personal goal that they think the rules don’t apply and that they are special. Well yes, if that was you trying to knock down a kid with downsyndrome just to gain yourself 30 seconds on your journey, you are a particularly special brand of self-centred, wank-stained prick who aught to have a kick in their privates if they break the basic rules of the road again, and have their bike impounded, or at least defaced appropriately at the soonest convenience.
“Nobody else is slipping the blade in the marmalade”