DOFs
When I was younger my Dad had a nickname for slow O.A.P. drivers, DOFs, or Dothering Old Farts. This morning I had two encounters with DOFs in as many miles. The first old dear decided that she didn’t need to check for traffic and pulled out infront of me causing me to cross into the on-coming lane in order to avoid her (I wasn’t going fast but it was bloody close). The second one was another ‘little old lady’ deciding to go all the way around the roundabout in the outside lane, whilst indicating left (i.e. to turn off).
Now I don’t want to sound age-ist but these little blue haired disaster zones should not be on the road, especially not with more blind old gits in the car with them. They have more potential to cause death and destruction than a gang of rappers doing a drive-by shooting.
So I rather think the gov’ should retest these little old ‘gansta’ ladies at yearly intervals after the age of about 50, and if they can’t see over the wheel, drive at 50% of the speed limit, have the mirror tilted so they can keep an eye on ‘tiddles’ in the back, or infact do anything these dangerous little old bastards are famous for, they should lose their licence.
Today was a lucky escape… and i’m glad because what is more frustrating than crashing into a car driven by a dangerous old biddy, is the fact that society would then look down on me for giving the old bat a good kicking for putting me at risk 