Fair enough, the Selkirk chapter of the Boy Racers' League can be a pain in the ear at times, as can delivery and trades people in their white vans (like mine?) always in a hurry (not me, Guv), but on this occasion I can say both are blameless. This time it is a particular breed of motorcyclist who is getting up my nose.
To set the scene, I am currently on a skive to the Northumberland coast in my housetruck. All very nice, weather just fine, no unduly noisy fellow campers and even a bit early in the year for the evening stench of barbecues.
So it all looked pretty good until the afternoon I decided to make a change from my usual cross-country/beach walking routine and take advantage of the pleasant country lanes to be found here in north Northumberland. It was a case of on with the boots, then the Grey Hooligan and I set off along the lanes, but had hardly gone a few hundred yards before a wailing noise like a hairdrier on acid in the near distance signalled the imminent arrival of a motorbike.
Round the bend in front of us he came, laying his bike over in approved fashion, before giving it the orders and zooming past me at a speed I would conservatively estimate to be in the region of 70-plus miles per hour, missing dog and I by not very much, and leaving us only the dust of his passing. Thinking to myself how close it was, I looked up to see his mate about to do the same thing, so it was a case of hastily taking to the verge which was thankfully wide enough to allow a reasonable margin of space.
In the course of just over a mile-and-a-half of road walking, this episode was repeated three times until I was forced to conclude that road walking was getting far too risky to continue that day.
I resent being forced off the road by anyone and these creeps made me wish for something like a pepper spray or similar to make my displeasure known to them, but I fear that could have rather messy consequences.
Now before you start jumping to conclusions and accusing me of being a bit general in my opinions, I am not anti-motorbike, far from it. I am pleased to number a random perchance rather potty collection of born-again bikers among my friends, and having seen most of them in action I am reassured there are some motorcyclists out there who give all other road users a decent deal.
But as for the nasty element who seem to delight in making a dangerous pest of themselves, I am beginning to wonder if the cops have the right tools to curb the levels of menace they cause.
We get a fair amount of media talk from various traffic policemen who announce all manner of sanctions they intend to deploy to curb motorcycling excesses. However, this huffing and puffing is not reflected in the court pages of The Southern Reporter to an extent where it offers other law-abiding road users any comfort.
If doubters are feeling brave they might try a canny drive up to St Mary's Loch on any sunny Sunday during the summer months where they might meet oncoming traffic of the two-wheeled type that will lift their blood pressure quite a lot – and in any case remove the need for breakfast bran flakes for several days, providing, of course, they survive the encounter.
Our legislators both here and in Europe are so zealous in their efforts to regulate the rest of us on the roads – ask any lorry driver – but are keen to change the subject when asked why they allow manufacturers to construct and market motorcycles capable of nearly 200mph in a country where 70mph is the legal top whack. In these times of electronic speed limiters etc., it might be a simple matter to fit motorcycles with devices that automatically take the edge off the suicidal top speeds and rocket-like acceleration capabilities of motorcycles, and for that matter not a few of the flash cars we see on the roads.
In the words of a long-ago road safety slogan – "You know it makes sense!"