FOR THE ARSEHOLES THAT KEEP BRITAIN FLOWING!

"Are we on the road, Mobbsy?"


"Yeah I fink so, scraggsy!"

  We all know them; they are the people who see level crossings as challenges, they 


see red lights as obstacles when you’ve already set off, driveways and 


pavements as universal parking spots and zebra crossings are optional.  Yes my 


friends, we’re talking about Britain’s shitty delivery drivers, the ones that create the 


cliche that all delivery drivers are wankers.

  Now usually I would not stoop so low as to target one group of individuals BUT it 


just so happens that me and my loved ones on one particular day suffered 


considerable short-shrift at the hands of these reprobates who drive round hating 


members of one race in particular ...the human race!  Which is why today they get 


this heart-felt tribute.

  My day starts waiting for a bus, well actually it ends that way, for this happened while 


I was waiting to make my journey home.  When this bloody big lorry decides to drive 


to his delivery destination and in spite of the massive white lettering across the road 


saying 

KEEP CLEAR

...This obviously did not apply to this lorry driver.  He was special!  And so the drive-


way was just driven across, and this miserable fifty something scrag appeared from 


the cab and just left his massive machine parked in front of this entrance and exit with


less thought than he would give to scratching his arse.  Now you may think this is no-


thing special, surely this happens all the time, but there is something that makes this 


even more ridiculous, and that is where he parked, there was a space behind (as you 


can see from the pictures) and if he’d reversed about ten feet back he would’ve left 


plenty of room for people to get both in and out.  But for Mr I’ll-only-be-ten-minutes, 


even that effort is too much a waste of his time.  Mr Jewson lorry parker, I salute you!

  Now, as I was saying at the beginning of this little tribute, this was not one incident 


on this day, oh no.  Britain’s delivery drivers on this day seemed to be going through 


some kind of existential crisis, for which the rest of humanity must suffer!  Back in 


Preston my wife went through a similar escapade while walking Riley to school.  


They were walking along when they encountered a massive wanker who’d parked 


across the entire footpath forcing everyone to go into the road.  My wife, being a 


shrinking-violet type (just like me of course!) asked him, in language direct, but not 


colourful enough to ...well here's what she said.

Zoe: Excuse me, can you move your van please!

Now if this was just a case of him saying no, it would not have made it on this blog, 


ladies and gentleman, this is the gigantic fuckwit's reply.


Driver:  How big do you think you are, love?


"No way!" you're probably thinking.  Nobody could be that much of an arsehole, but 


undeterred my wife carried on.


Zoe:  I don't see why me and my son should have to walk in the road for you now


shift it!


  Unfortunately she did have to walk in the road on that journey but later on the 


cock-knocker had moved his vehicle.  But like I said on this day, the drivers in Britain 


were truly in a pissed off mood, as I found out when I got off the bus and was walking 


home.  Making my way to the zebra crossing in Bamber Bridge is perhaps not the 


most thrilling of journeys but none-the-less it was one I had to make this night, and 


seeing that it was clear I made my way across


  So far, so boring.

  Until there appeared about 50 metres a way a van racing at about 40/45 in a 30 zone


with no noticeable sign that the brakes were working on his vehicle.  Because of this I 


was cautious, and rather than stomp across as I usually would I eased myself over.  


Only 10 metres away the driver decided that braking may in fact be a good thing with 


a pedestrian already on the zebra crossing and so he came to a stop and I was able to 


cross safely, but as I glanced over at the driver as he passed I was met with a look of 


rage that was not dissimilar to this.

  What did I do?


  What did I do?


  Did my crossing at the zebra cause him to miss a meeting?


  Did he have to buy his lottery tickets at a specific time to maximise his chances of 


winning?


  I don't know.  But what I can say is that on this day, this day that will live in infamy, 


this day when the van drivers of Britain were let slip, like the dogs of war, something


dark was flashing red through their veins, and so to any driver who was acting like a 


massive COCK on this day.  This page is for you.


  SALUTE.




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