Personal

White van man

White van man is angry. I am shaken.

As I drew level with his van - one of a line of vehicles parked on the side of the road - I saw his wheels turn outwards and begin to accelerate, the anonymous Transit heading towards my side. (He hadn't indicated.) A swift blast in the horn and a stamp on my brakes averted a collision.

Shaken, pulled over in the next safe place, signalling first.

White van man swerved off the road behind me, but it was his passenger who lept out and raced to my door. I'll paraphrase his speech to remove the generous helping of expletives (approximately every third word).

"What's your problem?" he asked. "Open your window. Why won't you open your window?"

(Maybe because I try to avoid threatening confrontation?)

Bizarrely at this point he tried to pull the window down from outside. Had he stopped to think first he'd have realised trying the door would have been the better option.

Frustrated by the window, he pushed his nose against the glass. Perhaps this was supposed to look menacing. Instead it looked comical; his squished up face framed by permed hair looked like Miss Piggy.

Getting no reaction from me he pulled back a clenched fist and thumped the window beside my head. No damage to the car, but I suspect it hurt. Perhaps that's why at that point he gave up.

I waited for the van to pull away first, fully expecting it to deliberately clip my wing on the way. It didn't. Instead, the trainee thug leaned out of the window relishing the opportunity to strike a bit more terror.

I smiled. He laughed, and that's the last I saw of him.

I hope he's feeling vented now, a little less angry.

I think I'll be shaken for the rest of the day.