The luck of the daddies: Road rage caused by a battered sausage supper

There was little traffic about and we should have made good time. Instead, each light seemed to change from green just as I was approaching. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence – a saying was born.

Since then it has been expanded to fit multiple occurrences. If I hang washing out on the line, it is close to certain that there will be a heavy rainfall. If I instead hang the garments inside, it dramatically increases the opportunities for a drought. The luck of the daddies.

If I wear shorts, the weather will cool. Putting on a heavy coat surely increases the external temperature. Sunglasses will result in the clouds inevitably gathering. I can’t remember the last time I had cause to apply sun cream, but based on my record, such a move would be likely to lead to a new ice age. The luck of the daddies.

But recently I have come to believe that the phrase may have a deeper application. Perhaps explaining my particular talent for making the simple appear complex, locating hills and bumps on the flattest of horizons.

It is early evening and I realise there is no milk in the fridge. I tell my wife that I will nip to the shop to buy a pint. The corner shop is a walk of just five minutes, less than a minute if I take the car. Instead, for no obvious reason, I decide to do something different. I drive into the village. Perhaps, I simply fancy a change of scenery. I’ve undertaken this journey countless times. What could go wrong?

I drive into the village and notice several empty parking spaces on the other side of the road.

I could easily travel a little further, turn around and then return so that I am parking on the same side of the road as the direction my car is facing.

However, I am scarred by the luck of the daddies, the number of times that I have done this only to discover that the multiple empty spaces have been inexplicably filled by vehicles in the two minutes it has taken me to turn.

So, instead I pull across the oncoming lane, which is empty of traffic, and park close to the shop. I am aware that this means that when exiting I will have to drive across that opposing lane again, but there are few cars about at this hour and I foresee no difficulty.

I try to be a considerate driver, so I park close to the vehicle behind, to maximise room for other cars.

I stroll at my leisure. There is a new café being renovated ahead of opening and I peer curiously through the front window. I nod and say hello to passing pedestrians.

In the shop two staff members are having a light-hearted disagreement and I am drawn into the jocular exchange as I purchase the milk.

It is when I return that I discover the first problem. A huge black 4x4, closer to a tank than a car, has parked close to the front of my little vehicle. Disturbingly close.

I study the small amount of space the driver has left, the little room I’ve left at the rear. I think I can get out, but it will take a bit of effort, will have to be done in stages.

I’m cursing under my breath as I slowly inch the car forward and back, turning the steering wheel as I go. Eventually, when I feel I have enough angle, I engage the indicator.

However, I have to be cautious because the proximity of the black 4x4 means I have close to zero visibility of cars approaching from the front. I edge out slowly and check my rear-view mirror for cars coming from behind.

I see that a large and muddy tractor is approaching slowly. In other circumstances I would be gone, but the caution caused by the situation makes me decide it’s better to wait until it passes.

The tractor passes my vehicle. Then, inexplicably, the driver pulls onto the left footpath in front of me and parks there, almost entirely blocking that lane of traffic.

A young man descends, crosses the road and disappears into the chip shop.

I am close to horrified. I have no sight of traffic driving out of the village, and traffic coming into the village is now blocked by a huge tractor. Within a minute a long tailback of cars has gathered behind.

I sit there for some time with my indicator clicking hopefully until I give up, realising that I am entirely trapped.

It is fully 15 minutes before the tractor driver emerges from the chip shop carrying a package wrapped in white paper.

The traffic in the village has now ground entirely to a halt and I remain boxed in. He gets back into the cab and I wait for him to drive off. I notice I have several text messages from my wife asking if I’m ok.

I watch the tractor driver intently. He doesn’t drive off, instead he unwraps his package and begins to eat his dinner while his vehicle continues to block the road.

Finally, I snap and start to sound the horn several times.

The tractor driver looks around. Eventually he spots me. I’m angrily waving my arms. He must think I’m an old friend because he smiles and waves.

I notice he is holding up what seems to be a battered sausage.