Going into London.

I work in the centre of London every day so when I'm not at work it's always the last place I want to visit. Thus imagine my joy yesterday when my beloved wife breezily ordered me to take her and my daughter for a trip on The London Eye. I don't know if anyone has seen it but it's that big round monstrosity blighting the skyline and which can be seen for about forty miles. It was only supposed to be there for a couple of years but still after what seems a lifetime it still churns away without end. Apparently it takes abut forty five minutes to complete a revolution. Call me boring but what do you do for the next forty four minutes. Once you've seen the roof of one building you've seen them all. Apparently I'm lacking in Kulcha.
     So smiling through teeth gritted hard enough to splinter I drove in. I only live seventeen miles from the West end but it still took nearly two hours. I don't know about the rest of the world but in London we suffer a peculiar phenomenon known as Sunday Drivers. On the stroke of Saturday midnight The roads magically become full of people in eighty year old cars who've never actually done the lesson on how to change up to second gear. Or on how to use their mirrors, or drive within the white lines or perform any of the above functions at a speed faster than that of a comatose slug.
     'Slow down', my wife said,  'you'll give yourself a heart attack. And stop swearing and biting the steering wheel, you're frightening your daughter.'whilst calmly reading a magazine. "Knitting your own yoghurt" or "Grow your own denim", or something equally as edifying;
     My daughter then displayed her obvious terror by texting ten people simultaneously and wouldn't have noticed if a satellite with a decaying orbit had crash landed on top of the car.
     So when we finally got there and paid a King's ransom to park the overheated car, half the world's popluation had decied to congregate in the queuing area so if we'd stayed there for another four years we wouldn't have been any further than when we'd begun.
    'Well it's you fault.' Spouse says, in that smug tone she reserves for assigning blame to anyone and everyone except herself. 'If we'd stayed at home like I wanted to we could  have...
    I don't care what it costs but I'm going to buy a shotgun.