No. Not like that.
And no, I didn’t spend the evening in a cell either.
I have lost my lovely v-plates to the threat of a delicious brown envelope crashing through the postbox.
Smile and say ‘cheese’?
Yes that’s right, there might be three points and a £60 fine on their way to me as we ‘speak’. I am quite the angry person, and it’s just in time for my insurance renewal.
Where does this £60 go, eh? I know I’m not the only one who drives a little over 35mph in a 30-zone, so there must be a very nice pot on the desk of some office in London, waiting for the Policeman’s Ball when it’s given out as a prize to the Officer who scored the most speed traps.
There wasn’t even a chance to be pulled over and bat my eyelashes “Oh gosh Officer, I am ever so sorry.”
It was a mobile unit.
They were too ashamed to even show their faces. It’s okay chaps, I know that you speed too!
Those mobile trucks must be thug/idiot/driver proof to stop people like me going back, pulling up, getting out and knocking on the door. Obviously I was going to be much calmer that your average speeder. But by the time I’d planned what I might say I’d already gone sailing up the other side of the hill. Nearly jumped a red too – what a laugh!
I’m just praying for an empty doormat next week. Otherwise…I’ll be £60 less rich, £60 less close to my Mulberry handbag and you know that every insurance company will double my quote, just because they can.
If I was only a 2 mph over the ‘allowed limit’ I shall cry. A lot.
And to think that I avoided the motorway to save petrol money! PAH!