Spitting bullets

There I was, out for a little errand-running ride on my motorcycle. Unfortunately mid-afternoon on a Saturday is not a good time to be anywhere near the Mall of the Emirates, and sure enough I found myself stuck in heavy traffic. It was pointless trying to beat the traffic, what with a signal a hundred metres or so ahead which would surely turn red before I reached it, so I bimbled along behind a Nissan Tiida being piloted by a driver who was clearly more interested in his mobile phone than his driving.

But this angry post is not about the Tiida or the mobile telephone. It's about the Arabic-speaking gentleman in a new Land Cruiser who decided to undertake me and my motorbike by using a bus layby. When it had become apparent that the layby was rather shorter than the distance needed to complete this manoeuvre, the driver of the Cruiser had a choice of three obvious courses of action:-

1. Bounce up the kerb;
2. Stamp on the brakes;
3. Push the motorbike out of his way.

He chose the third option, to my immediate surprise and displeasure.

Now, I was unable to take any evasive action. With cars to my left, a Land Cruiser to my right and a Tiida ahead, where was I supposed to go? I stopped.

There was a bellowing of Toyota horn, a shriek of brakes, and then the Cruiser swerved behind me, pushed into the lane to my left, the passenger side window opened, and I was treated to a torrent of Arabic abuse. I don't understand the words, but the tune was obvious.

Given the nature of the offence (and the scratch to my paintwork), I yelled back: "You! Police! Now!" before noting that the damage was extremely superficial, and...well, what was the point? The Land Cruiser driver showed no inclination to stop and await the arrival of the Constabulary.

I noted his registration number, but since getting home I'm extremely irritated to have lost the scrap of paper on which it was written.

]}:-{>