What's so attractive about my rear end?

I'd like to know what's so attractive about my rear end? It's curvy and lies at the back of me, minding it's own business. It's not special, except that it's all mine ... And I don't want it whacked!

So why do so many other cars want to squeeze up behind me so you could hardly fit a size zero model between us?

If I suddenly stop, the chance of these tailgaters stopping is hardly better than a blind hedgehog surviving a vacation trip across a busy intercity road?

And there are so many of them.

Yesterday, I'm driving through the beautiful West Somerset, UK, countryside minding my own business. The road is wet from overnight rain and lots of skiddy oak leaves have fallen, not to mention the odd tree branch.

At intervals, there are patches of mud from local farm tractors using the highway to travel between their hard working green fields.

A bean brain could see conditions were slippery. A half witted dodo who'd failed first year at high school could see that the road was more like a skating rink than a race track.

Whoops, there he is, a 4x4 with bull bars and he's latched onto my tail.

It's a beautiful sunny day but he's got his headlights full on.

There's a line of traffic ahead as far as I can see, which on this narrow, twisty road isn't far. So, if he passes me, he will only go for a few feet before being slowed down again.

He's so close I can almost lip read the obscenities he's hurling at me for daring to get in his way.

Hey, I'm naturally nervous. I'm the one everybody loves to bully. I love life. I don't want to die!

He edges nearer to me. Perhaps he's lassoed my bumper and has his engine switched off.

I can almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. My eyes are glued to my mirror and every move he makes. Briefly, I flick my eyes forward again. Just in time, I brake gently because the car ahead has slowed down. I daren't brake sharply because Mr Bull Brain is right behind. My normal distance to a moving vehicle ahead is about three street lengths so slowing down is not a problem, even with the distraction of All Engine and Chrome.

Incensed that I dared to hit the brakes, even gently, Mr Bull Bar Buffoon, blares his horn to show his contempt. Presumably, the chances of him ever using his brakes on a country road are about the same as me not dying pretty soon unless I get out of his way.

I give up and pull over into a lay by. Idiots are better ahead of me than behind.

Riding his horn again, he immediately shoots forward and latches onto the next car ahead.

So maybe my rear end wasn't so specially beautiful, after all. I briefly feel mildly disappointed, then, after the stream of traffic has gone by, carefully, pull out into the road.

The green fields stretch all around and in the distance lies Exmoor with it's wonderful walks, deer, foxes and other dangerous wild life.

And, talking of danger, there's another car attached to my tail. It's a small blue convertible driven by a rather good looking blond woman.

Ooh, but she's better than the last driver.

Hello dear! Maybe we can exchange telephone numbers after we've exchanged insurance details when you dent my bumper!

Your car isn't so big as the last guy's so I'd probably live. You might not look so pretty though after they've scraped your face off the windscreen.

Nevertheless, I'd rather get close up and friendly with this damsel than the mouthy bull bar guy.

But, oh help! She's applying her make-up as she's bumper hugging me.

Fear washes over me again, even faster than the make-up she's applying.

There's only one solution. I pull over to a lay by again to let her pass. Immediately she roars forward and latches onto the next car up the line. I think I can now see her eating some yogurt.

Trembling gently, I dimly recollect that the West Somerset Railway has now been connected between Minehead and my local town of Taunton.

Perhaps I'd be better off taking the train!

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - news - fiction)