20 mph is an awkward speed to drive at. Halfway between second and third gears, you either stick with the former and rev the guts out of your engine or change up and over-tax it to rattling point. Apart from the dodgems, I’ve never driven an electric vehicle, so who knows what that’s like, but I suspect many motorists find the new low-speed zones annoying.
But, and it’s a big but, the lower speed limit is expected to save an estimated 100 lives per year and prevent 14,000 injuries nationwide. Add the fact that there’s an infants’ school near the main road through Mawnan Smith, and that’s more than good enough for me; I’m happy to stick to the limit, even as I reserve the right to curse under my breath as my car dithers in third.
What I don’t like is the Mawnan Smith pointing dummy – that’s the chap in the high-vis hanging from the pole. For those who don’t know the place, Mawnan it’s a pretty little village near Glen Durgan on the lovely Helford river. It has, if I may say so, a rep for housing retirees of the well-heeled, snooty variety. Whether justified or not, and I confess, I don’t know – they’re always very friendly in the village shop – but, for the past year or more, that dummy has occupied the entrance to one of the posh houses, pointing accusingly at every passerby.
Well, I don’t like it. Every time I’ve driven by, it’s rankled me, causing me to mutter to the effect that I can read the sign for myself, thanks very much, and I don’t need some busy-body reinforcing the message with a dummy that looks like a zombie crossed with a postman.
Imagine then, my delight, when returning from assessing the unpromising condition of my allotment, I discovered persons unknown had taken the law into their own hands and meted out summary justice to the Mawnan pointer. Sending him aloft with a sex doll to keep him company was a stroke of genius; whoever you are, I salute you!
There’s more. The individual(s) to whom I will now refer as the ‘Mawnan busybody’ has retaliated. Drive past the same entrance now, and there’s a new high-vis-wearing dummy, only this time, you can only see the top half of him because he’s been tucked behind the garden wall, presumably to deter thieves. For me, though, the cat is out of the bag; the boil of annoyance is lanced. As I pass the new dummy, I shall assume there’s another sex doll on the other side of that wall, only you can’t see her because she’s busy.
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