Midnight.
Driving home from
Soho, London. The
Finchley Road is busy, a huge
McDonalds articulated lorry follows another truck, and these behind two
double decker buses. As they manoeuvre they're taking up more than their lane,
encroaching on my land.
I make a mistake,
judge the lanes wrong, end up behind the lorry. A
VW Polo nips by. But my Mini is smaller and easily jinks in behind. I follow at a respectful distance as the
Polo deftly negotiates the
rolling blockade.
The driver has grace, and my appreciation.
A style akin to my own.
The lights are
red.
The driver pulls up and I slip alongside,
glance over. A woman, late 20s, smiling;
a connection. We pull away together, jockeying for position. Pressing on and I pull away, cruising
nonchalantly, deliberately. I get six or seven lengths ahead... then
bam, red lights again.
I see her light pattern in the
rear-view and in seconds she's alongside as we turn from one road to another.
She's going my way. I make ground again and it's a full 5 minutes before I again see the angry glow of a
bank of red. I consciously haven't let the gap get insurmountable; before I move off she's there again, diving between two cars to ensure
her place at my side.
This time I get a
megawatt grin and laughing eyes - at the next few stops a volley of
surreptitious glances between us.
The penultimate roundabout on my journey arrives too soon. I sense her position, and we deliberately slow - make
the paths we are about to take clear. She's alongside on the curve of the roundabout and we look over at each other as she
peels away.
Smiles. A
spontaneous wave.
She's gone. The wave provides a
satisfying conclusion. The short remainder of my journey spent with a
silly grin.