Blind Spot

Late by ten minutes driving an icy car, the outcome is and was as predictable as bad drama — minus an ominous score.


A white van against an overcast morning not seen through a frosted window, and then it was right in front and the accelerated motion which should have carried me efficiently through the roundabout was jarringly halted. Truly I did not see it. Truly that fact is of no consequence.

The Police Officers travelling at a fortuitous distance behind on the same road, took charge within half a minute. I could retreat into my newly aching head and politely fume at myself. The Officers busied themselves with the mandatory task of collecting statements — the flashing lights of their striped vehicle providing momentary interest to the bored passing motorists.

My car is in a bad way. “Undrivable”, said the Senior Constable (I have no idea if he really is ranked Senior, but he was the senior of the two constables present). A buckled bonnet, headlight smashed all to hell, and a badly bent bumper — that became evident once the ex-car was dragged onto the truck. A horrid scraping of asphalt, plastic, and metal was the death cry of such a dependable steed. The white van appeared to be suffering more of a flesh-wound, a dented sliding door which did not prevent it from behaving normally as a road vehicle, it shook off the sting and eventually went on its way.

“Failure to give way at an intersection.” That’s the ticket I can expect to receive in the mail next week. Failure. Such a dismal word, and so hard to inflect with a positive tone. In all truth I think my reactions were fortunately slow, for he was travelling faster than I, and in a flat-fronted van it would have been far worse if he had hit me. However the mark against me would still stand, I still failed to give way.

My car is gone, at least for now. My mobility therefore substantially reduced. But I crashed in a well kept and considerate neighbourhood, with policemen at the scene to help me from my car and kindly take responsibility for what I dare not (that is talk to the other chap). Insurance will hopefully step-up, my brother spirited me from the scene when the police inquiries were done, and I now sit by a warm fire and await a wholesome dinner. In all the chaos of the world, where desperate people do desperate things, and are never secure in so much as their next meal; when civilised planes are shot from an uncivilised sky — how unfairly fortunate today am I.