My uncle passed away last night, after a year or so fighting against brain cancer. In the end it was all rather quick; for many months it had been possible to forget that he was terminally ill, and certainly he lived with an optimism that defied his prognosis. In recent months he declined quite quickly, though, and he ended up only spending three weeks confined to his bed before the end came in a rush.

I can’t help but wonder if in that last month he realized that he was beat and decided not to fight, particularly once he got to see the first pictures of his new grandson. I may well be seeing something that’s not there. I certainly don’t mean it as a sign of weakness; I think perhaps that even in his foggy state he may have recognized that there’s a point where you’ve done what you can.

A military man once said that when you can’t run, you crawl. And when you can’t crawl, when you can’t do that, you find someone to carry you. I hope someone is there to carry you now Tom.

I’m just watching the weather forecast on the BBC’s 24 hour news channel. Obviously this isn’t quite the big leagues, so we’re getting one of the backup forecasters; perfectly capable and assured, just not one of the A list. Perhaps that’s why he looks to be about 15, an impression not helped by the suit he appears to have borrowed from one of his mates. I don’t have the manual of aging to hand, but I think this must be at least a couple of steps beyond policemen looking young. What next, youthful sprightly milkmen?

I’m listening to a ‘best of’ podcast of the Chris Moyles show. The current one is actually a ‘best of best of’, also known as filler, so I’ve heard some of it already. One of the pieces featured Ricky Gervais, and he spoke a line that reminded me of the first time I heard it when we were living in Minneapolis. Interestingly (using the word loosely, of course) it didn’t just remind me generically of the time, but of the specific moment when I heard it – it was just here, which is further along Franklin than I would normally be but the road was busy and I was struggling to cross. So now you know.

I was driving along a few days ago and was reminded how low the standard for driving can be. It was a little foggy, which meant that every third person on the road had switched on their rear fog light. Fog lights are great, but are specifically for conditions where traffic behind you would struggle to see you, not for driving around a well lit village when there’s a little bit of fog. In such conditions they’re actually dangerous, because they’re dazzling and tend to obscure the action of brake lights.

As if this wasn’t enough, I don’t think I took a bend without having to dodge someone who thought that the taxes they paid for roads meant they could use the entire width whenever they needed, and to hell with oncoming traffic. Oh, and if I let you through there’s no need to acknowledge my generosity at all, it’s fine, I’ll go screw myself just as soon as I can.

Anyway, I was getting myself all worked up about the general incompetence around me when I started to think about some of the regular commutes I’ve done over the years. I’ve had 2 or 3 routes I travelled enough that I could recognize a number of my fellow wage-slaves. And without exception they fell into two camps; the huge majority were perfectly fine drivers who might, on very rare occasions, make momentary slips in their driving; a small minority were obvious ass-hats who were weaving in and out of traffic to get to work 11 seconds sooner.

So the next time you see someone make a driving mistake remember that there’s a good chance that it really was just a mistake, not evidence of incompetence, so why not take a deep breath and let it pass? You’ll live longer, so long as the next moron doesn’t get you.

Notes:
1. Yes, I do consider myself an above-average driver, but only just, and only because the average is so low.
2. None of the above applies if the other driver is so small they can barely see above the steering wheel. Those people are evil and dangerous.

I was taking the girl to school a couple of days ago when we passed a small field with a guy stood in one corner, apparently having a swift pee. He was tucked away in the corner with his back to us, looking down intently and with one of his arms hidden from view. We walked past apprehensively (at least I did, Lauren just bounced along as she normally does), until the guy turned around and all was revealed.

No, not that. He had been watching carefully as his small ratty dog relieved itself in the corner. And the only reason I couldn’t see his arm (the man, not the dog, dogs don’t have arms) was that he (the man) only had one arm.