Image Credit – Giles Chapman Library
I have a friend who believes humanity is being secretly invaded by beings from a far off, and possibly spaced out planet that he calls ‘the Moronosphere.’
These slack jawed aliens look just like us, and apparently plan to take over the world by doing stupid things and sowing confusion as a result. If this is true, I suspect that a lot of them will be driving very badly over the winter months.
I live in a Kentish village on a hilly road with steep cambers and overlooked by a very big old hedge. This casts a shadow on the tarmac, creating a fantastic spot for black ice.
Sometimes it’s hard to stand up on this surface, as it has the quality of an skating rink, but every year when the weather gets properly cold we watch a succession of drivers who blast along it as if they were on a summer jaunt. Mostly, thanks to a mixture of momentum and luck they carry on in a straight line and don’t ram their vehicles into solid objects.
During the morning commute the pavement is usually thronged with parents and small children on their way to the village primary school, and I often shudder inwardly as cars slither by them at suicidal speeds. Mind you, last year one of these motorized twits began to go sideways, banged on the brakes, slithered to an oddly angled halt and found he couldn’t get going again. The driver of the articulated lorry that got stuck behind him was not impressed.
Some drivers don’t get that far. Every winter idiots beam down from the Moronosphere, climb into their cars, encounter a sharp right hand bend near the pub and carry on in a straight line until they re-style their vehicles by embedding them in a very solid stone wall.
My wife and I will be walking the dog on the village green, hear the sound of a crumple zone being crumpled and mutter ‘another one.’ The endlessly patient couple whose cottage sits behind the wall usually bring the miscreants cups of tea before phoning a builder to fix their wall again.
Now we come to snow. Removing it from your car is cold, wet, boring and hard work, as is scraping ice from the windows, but in the Moronosphere they don’t bother. Instead they create a letterbox sized hole in the stuff on their windscreens and leave everything else covered so their cars look like white, fluffy armored vehicles, then drive virtually blind onto glassy surfaced roads. Often they seem happy to do this with children or other loved ones on board. If by some miracle they manage to avoid having an accident and their cars get warm, huge chunks of slushy snow then flings itself from their speeding metal steeds into the paths of following vehicles. Really, you don’t need to be a motoring expert to realize that this is beyond dumb.
What planet are these people from? Well, we know the answer to that one, don’t we?