Road Rage

. . . is something I definitely suffer from, and it's been getting noticeably worse over the last couple of years. Let me paint the picture:
Today I had the misfortune to journey into Glasgow city centre, a trip of some 25 miles or so. I didn't want to go, knowing that it was Saturday, the sales were on, and the weather was foul, but I had to go, so I'm already at Defcon 3 by the time I hit the motorway.

There are road works near Cumbernauld which slow the traffic down to just under 40mph in both lanes = Ding Dong! Defcon 2.

Then some nob in a brand new BMW X5 decides to sit in the fast lane at 55mph. At first I assume that it's because the driver in front of him is slowing, but after glimpsing ahead of him round a bend, I see that the road in front of BM Boy is empty! = Hello Defcon 1!

At this point I'm calling the driver of the Chelsea tractor every name I can think of, and I'm sure that if my mother had been in the car at the time, then she'd have started crying. Once said arsehole finally moves to the inside lane, I'm further angered to see that he's no older than 19/20, has a baseball hat on that's about 8" tall, and at least 3 sovereign rings on each hand.
By now I've convinced myself that 6 months in jail is a small price to pay for happy slapping homie all the way home.

Thankfully the comedy show on Radio2 stepped in to diffuse the situation.
I now know why millionaires all buy helicopters.