Morning:
9°c
I witnessed a car crash last week. No one was hurt, beyond feelings and crumpled metal. A Prius driving down Pimlico Road had flashed a Porsche waiting to turn right into Ebury Street.
The Porsche took the flashes to mean “Quick! Make your turn” when the Prius actually meant Oi! It's my right of way!” and they met in a loud embrace.
It is easily done. Two weeks ago I slewed all over the Westway when the van ahead shed a ladder. When I accelerated alongside him making wild “you dropped something huge” gesticulations, the driver misunderstood and gave me a cheery thumbs-up.
It seems incredible, in a world of emails, texts and Twitter, that communications between cars are still so utterly basic. Ships worked out how to communicate out to sea centuries ago. Not only could they spell things out alphabetically but had individual flags with specific meanings like “Keep clear I'm manoeuvring with difficulty”.
I'm not saying that cars should run up flags but why don't manufacturers fit LCD displays with simple messaging systems activated by switches on the dash? The most vital, road-rage-averting switch would be “Sorry”.
London buses, of course, would be fitted with a specialised version to tell us: “I intend to tear through this red light” and “I don't care how far you ran, I'm still going to slam the door once you reach me”.
* With Gordo's crunch affecting all our pockets, it is more important than ever to find ways to be inspired and entertained on the cheap. My advice is join a choir. I have been in one for the past six months. None of us is a good singer individually but together our four-part harmonies are of such loveliness as to make grown men weep.
We are not just any old choir; we are a guerrilla choir. Inspired by the symbiotic pleasures of flash mob dancers and the guerrilla gardeners who, under cover of night, cultivate traffic islands purely, our summer programme is once a week to join shoppers in Iceland or Post Office queues or jump on a bus then sing everyone's socks off for one song only and melt away.
* Last week, David Byrne played the Albert Hall to delirious reviews. At the weekend, Van the Man performed his seminal Astral Weeks album; later this summer Neil Young will be headlining in Hyde Park, and back by popular demand comes Leonard Cohen after last year's sell-outs. No longer do we think it bad manners for them to live beyond 27. Good music is good music whether it comes from wrinkles or peach fluff.
All we ask is that they age in style. So Madonna: if your stylist persists in suggesting sex-shop doll, right, over jazz diva, it's time for a new stylist.
Reader views (1)
Sorry Liza, but if I was on a bus and a choir started up I would die from embarrassment...
- Nicholas, London, UK, 21/04/2009 13:33
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