Just when life couldn’t get any worse... pt2

Just an hour after my fall from grace onto the pointed gravel - see "Just when life couldn't get any worse... pt 1" for more details - which had resulted in torn flesh and what felt like cracked bone, I slowly began to allow the tumble to ebb into my subconscious memory box entitled “horrible but now acceptable parts of your past” as I aimed for home and drove. The six mile journey ahead weaved along amber-dappled, darkening roads but I felt cocooned with the soothing warmth of my BMW’s purring heater and the only noticeable discomforts were my left-hand knee, which was becoming more agonising each time I pushed in the clutch and my left-hand elbow that jutted at an angle as I slotted gear to gear. “Oh if only my pre-cognitive powers actually worked” I thought as my face’s capillaries began to flush in the interior warmth, “I’d now be without a massively swollen leg and misshapen arm-bend” and this reflection continued to grow as I found myself in an increasingly painful driving position due to locked-up limbs and frozen joints.

As I cruised homeward bound, I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I’d been: "what if I’d broken my leg in the middle of nowhere and been stranded with nothing but Sheep to talk to right down to my last frozen breath?” was one question that ran through my mind, as I suddenly realised an upcoming right-hand turn I intended to take was approaching about half a mile away. So, I slowly started to move into the centre of the road and allowed myself a quick glimpse of future intentions: take a soothing bath; dress my aching wounds; attack my tea like only a ravenous, injured fool could do so. Then, from about 500 metres away, I noticed a large people-carrier type car halfway across the carriageway, blocking off all the viewpoints for all traffic and positioned in such a way it screamed the driver was oblivious of road safety, let alone spatial awareness. I gave my headlights a quick dip, hoping the driver would shift out of my way. There was no movement...

At 400 metres, I checked my rear-view mirror and with no-one coming down the now darkened road behind me, I once again flashed my headlights. Nothing...

At 300 metres, I changed down from 4th to 3rd and winched with a knee twinge, then decided to coast with my clutch down in order to prevent further unnecessary pain infliction. I was glaring at the approaching behemoth, which I could now tell was red in colour and could hear myself thinking obscenities. Nothing yet...

At 200 metres, another quick check in the mirror and a flash again. Blood pressure beginning to rise as the stationary red pile of s**t had yet to move an inch. I started whispering obscenities. Still nothing...

At 100 metres, I began braking and dropped down into 2nd gear. My eyes blurred with glances to every available mirror on the car. Still no approaching headlights, so I flicked my light stalk rapidly, begging for the driver to move out of my way. Nothing acknowledged...

At 50 metres, into 1st gear and eased my foot off the clutch as I cursed in pain. Braking harder and indicating to turn right, my BMW started to slow and for the first time I could see that the driver was a woman, who for some reason appeared blissfully unaware of my rapid halogen assaulting. Complete nothingness...

At 25 metres, I desperately flashed my lights once again but to no avail. The driver suddenly bends over, obviously looking for something on the floor of her car. I can now tell that the metallic vehicular obstruction is none other than a Nissan Serena. Nowt happening at all...

At 10 metres, my disbelief is at full scale now I’m faced with this ignorant waste of road space and my whispering of obscenities has developed into a loud vocalising. Zero reaction...

At 1 metre, my brakes are fully pressed and my car’s halting. My eyes are dazzled by the bloomed reflection of my own headlights against the side of red of the people-carrier, temporary giving me an afterimage of a Nissan Serena’s back quarter panel across my vision. Still the moron doesn’t move...

Stopped. I’m now stationary and the clown’s still blocking my view of oncoming traffic and also stopping the cars from the right-hand turn from pulling out. There’s a cacophony of different car horns, including mine, sounding now but still the Serena doesn’t move. The driver finally pops up and glances around, wondering why there are horns being sounded. The sound of my voice reverberates furiously as I deafen myself with choice swear words. No movement, no recognition, no idea...

Sat waiting, looking around in amazement as nothing happens as if time’s stopped ticking and for an eternity I’ll be sat peering into the dark night at a red Nissan Serena, infinitely looped on a plain in Hell. If only guns were legal in the UK flashes as a thought across my mind, then there’d be a lot of velocity-shattered drivers’ craniums on our roads and this raises a snarl to the corner of my mouth as I hope I had an Uzi under my seat right now.

Then, out of frustration, annoyance and hatred I make an error of judgement: I edge out slowly from behind this cretin’s red Nissan in order to potentially see what’s approaching. As I do so, the Serena lurches forward and suddenly I’m over into the oncoming traffic and a split-second later everything changes.

A silver Citroën C2 appears in an instant, travelling at about 30 miles an hour and only 10 feet from the front of my now stationary BMW. I know what’s about to happen as my neurons register it but my synapses cannot process the information quickly enough for the inevitable collision. A frozen snapshot flicks on, then blurs in slow-motion for a millisecond...

#@*BANG! #@*SMASH! #@*CRASH!*@#

The resulting impact propelled my car backwards about 15 feet, complete with the accompanying sound of scrunched plastic, scraped metal and smashed glass ringing deafeningly in my stunned ears. And now the synapses flex and transfer their wares: Neurotransmitters smash into neuroreceptors and all channels open with adrenaline, serotonin and endorphin start flooding my bloodstream in order to bypass any potential injury. Either that or I’d just found the best high anyone will ever need as it swept me along and beyond my previous best: a disused Doncaster warehouse circa 1988 and an introduction to illegal substances. Needless to say, my injuries from the fall only an hour prior are now tossed away as consciously unimportant at this time and I begin to function via a “fight or flight” burst of chemical protection.

As usual, everything suddenly snaps back into place and I became aware of steam rising from the front of my BMW’s bonnet and billowing in the cool night air, a funny sound coming from my engine bay and a slight ache across my right-hand shoulder where the seatbelt had constricted against me. Glancing across to the Citroën, I indicated we’re to try and move out of the way of everyone else and get the thumbs up from the lad and girl sitting dazed within, when at the rear of the red Nissan Serena appears the cause of the whole accident, mouth open and gaped, blissfully unaware she’s the instigation of this vehicular carnage. At this point however, the verbal explosion and wild gesticulating from inside my smashed car soon brings her up to date with exactly how I feel she’s contributed to annihilating my existence and she side-steps out of my view as I’m fumbling with releasing my seatbelt in order to explain further up close and personal.

Then, amazingly, this absolute cretin who’s caused utter destruction due to her basic inability to drive, guns her engine and zooms off down the road in a cloud of exhaust fumes, her rear lights blurring in my vision as I sit and try to comprehend how far she’s going to go before pulling over and stopping. She doesn’t stop...

Issuing a noise that sounds like I’m gutting a hog at an open-air roast, I trundled my car to the side of the pavement, its deformed plastics squealing in agony as they rub against one another and echo through the last dying gasps of the steaming radiator clouds. Once outside and into the crisp night time air, I witness the complete wreckage of my BMW’s front end and now completely despondent, I’m faced with the lad and girl’s Citroën: just a cracked headlight and that’s it - a marvel of modern crumple zones and crash test ratings. We swapped the usual details, discussed the red Nissan Serena’s disappearance and then both left our separate ways: one driving off completely intact, the other looking like they’d just completed a Dukes of Hazard bridge-out jump which had gone dreadfully wrong.

The split-second the crash took to occur had far greater ramifications to my future than I could ever have imagined during the post-euphoria of my fluttering brain-flooded bliss. Here are just some of the long term effects in a bulleted, concise form for all to see and for me to fume about even more:

1) The car was a right-off with a fully destroyed front end;

2) The person who caused the accident did one, hence I was left to carry the can;

3) So, my insurance company wouldn’t pay out as I was 3rd Party, Fire & Theft;

4) Then, I had no money to fix the car and so it had to be scrapped;

5) A couple of days later, I found I’d pulled my back;

6) My knee eventually turned out to have a hairline fracture;

7) And as I was to blame, I couldn’t even put a claim in for my own injuries, self-inflicted or otherwise.

A fantastic time had by all then and a just reflection of the slop-filled, toss-spray my life is at the minute, although I’m reminded by friends of the old gems such as “things could be a lot worse”, “there’s people less fortunate than yourself” and “you should smile and count your blessings”. Well, if someone can show me how things could be worse, introduce me to these unfortunate people and point me in the right direction to where I can count these blessings, then I’ll accept what you’re telling me is gospel and desist with my moaning. However, seeing as no one has managed to convince me as of yet, I’m betting they don’t exist so I’ll just keep on cursing my misfortune at the hands of a bastard simpleton who was driving a red Nissan Serena. So I now undertake a daily rant in conjunction with my bad back, dodgy knee and knackered elbow, whilst cycling 10 miles a day to and from work come snow, rain or shine in an enforced fitness regime due to not having a replacement car because my insurance policy was invalidated by a disappearing people-carrier.

And I do try to tell myself that thing’s can’t get any worse, although we all know they can and most often do...