November 11th – Riding along the Darlaston Road in Pleck, Walsall at about 5:30pm, towards Walsall. I’m on the left as I’m hauling uphill and the banjo in the taxi overtakes me and turns left, not too far from wiping me out.

Fortunately, he hesitated, and I saw what he was going to do, so I drifted to the left as he pressed towards me. Long time since I shouted at a driver.

This was not a case of not seeing me. He saw me, he went for it. Thankfully, I have my wits about me.

March 7th – Today was grim. The commuting weather was as miserable as it gets. It felt quite warm, but there was a persistent rain of the kind that hunted out the gap between collar and neck, or any slightly-open zip. The traffic was mental, and everything seemed to be functioning half-asleep. 

Coming home from Walsall Station, I noticed the taxi rank at the side of the station seemed to be afflicted by the wet-day madness, and I found myself waiting at the lights at Rushall Square, stoically bracing for some idiot to cut me up.

I’m sure there’s valuable research to be done on why many drivers brains turn to porridge in wet weather. A real puzzler.