At The Sharp End Of The War On The Motorist
I’ve been away for a while. No - not “away” like Marty McFly’s uncle Joey - I mean just busy. Flat out full-on deadline-passing late and trying to catch up busy.
Anyway, today I was riding in the rain through the excellent cycle facility that is Newcastle’s Percy Street, when I heard the loudest, strangest vehicle behind me. It sounded like a tractor being ripped apart by that bloke from the James Bond films with the metal teeth.
As I was busy dealing with the homicidal drivers in front of me, and could hear that it was in the next lane, I didn’t bother to look round.
It pulled level with me at the next set of lights:
That’s a tank. A flippin’ tank! With tracks and a gun! A TANK!
The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, though the driver couldn’t hear my challenge to a race from the lights because of his ear defenders.
I’ve no idea what they were doing in Newcastle, but when I left them, they were heading down to the Bigg Market. From this, I surmise that they had either:
- In town to keep the peace. The Bigg Market can get pretty alarming at times.
- Stolen the tank à la Mike Watt, and they were just in town for a good time.