On not being able to come up with a witty comeback

On not being able to come up with a witty comeback

Road rage!

Or rather: Car park rage!

For there I was, in the car park behind Waitrose, locking the Fail Whale and intending to do a bit of posh shopping, when my attention was drawn to the female driver of an aging Saab convertible, shouting abuse in my general direction.

From what I could make out, I had somehow failed to stop as she was reversing out of her space, and it was therefore my fault that I had held her up for three seconds of her life. And she was LIVID. Livid to the point that she threatened to drive her car into mine "just to even things up a bit".

So, I took the route of sanity, said nothing and walked away.

This - I am sad to say - made her even worse - wasting time and breath hurling abuse at my back and making herself look not particularly clever in front of a passing family of small children.

Yes, I had maintained the moral high ground by turning the other cheek, and knew full well that in the "What would Jesus drive?" debate, the correct answer would be "a blue Nissan Micra with a sticker for a regional radio station."

However, further reflection that evening scolded me for not coming up with a witty comeback. Not even a terse "Your mum". So, through these pages, I'd just like to say to the Waitrose Saab-driving harridan:

"You smell of poo, you live in a poo house with a poo family and a poo dog, drive a car that is made of poo, you go shopping for poo and your driving is poo, also."

Touché!