Just back from a splendid weekend break. Hugely revitalising, although I have to confess to a smattering of morning sickness. Actually it’s more than a smattering. I feel like shit warmed up, no, that’s not right. I suspect warm shit feels a lot nicer than I do. I must be growing sodding quintuplets here, I have a giant muffin top already and while not go, per se, the Chunderbirds are definitely warming up their engines. Uck.

All movement has to be done carefully with the head kept very level to keep nausea and dizziness down to the absolute minimum. Whilst delighted to be obviously pregnant, I find myself wishing the symptoms were a little less er… bold. Skipping about chirpily, though my desired intent, is not really on the cards until our friends at International Let’s Spew stand down or at least, revert to amber alert. I’ll be fucking annoyed if it falls out after feeling like this.

Anyway, “morning” (more like all day) sickness aside, what I actually came here to do was share this lovely story with you because it made me laugh and I think Joe, especially, will enjoy it, having been on the end of law enforcement megaphone abuse, himself. Here in Blighty we have a magazine called FHM, which runs a readers’ true stories column. Here is a choice example, as told by one intrepid reader.

“Some years ago I was working for a small business firm in Manchester. On the way home I was just about to drive up onto the M26, when I had to stop at a red light.

“In front of me was a police car, a Jaguar and then a learner. When the lights turned green the learner started to pull away, stalled and couldn’t restart his car until the lights were red again. When they changed to green, he stalled again, prompting the man in the Jag to get out and walk towards him.

“Suddenly, the police car loudspeaker burst into life.

“‘Would the gentleman who has just left his vehicle please remember he was once a learner too.’

“Clearly embarrassed, the man returned to his Jag. As the lights changed, the learner stalled again, at which point we were treated to.

“‘Fucking hell! The dozy twat’s done it again!’”

I think the moral of this story runs thus. “Policemen and women! Remember to turn the loudspeaker off after use.”

As we all know there is a great deal of hype about who can produce the fastest road car, how quickly it goes from 0-60, etc. So the fastest road car at the moment is the Bugatti Veron… or is it still the Maclaren F1? No matter, both go at over 200 miles an hour but what use is one of these beasts on the actual road? Well… not much… not with speed limits, speed cameras and granny driving her Honda Civic round to her kid’s for lunch…

Having done a 100 mile round trip for a christening, today, mostly down the M25, I can confirm that the four fastest cars on the road today are actually as follows…

A hired car or even better, a hired VAN
So what if you left the oil cap off at the last services and are doing the whole journey at 9,000 revs, it’s not yours and with any luck it won’t break completely until after you’ve given it back and are long gone.

A white van
When you are in the fast lane, doing 90 you don’t expect one of these to come up behind you and sit so close on your bumper you begin to wonder if the guy is trying to trap a credit card he’s accidentally dropped out of his window against it. You should.

Anything with an italicised number plate.
Also a top contender for the highest amount of money spent on a car for the smallest increase in value, this one. Yes it’s metallic purple it has an enormous spoiler and a full body kit but don’t be fooled, it’s not a Sierra Cosworth. That’s a standard 1.1 litre Ford Diesel engine in there. It will have taken at least 20 miles to get from a standing start to the speed, just short of escape velocity, which it’s doing now. It’s driven by a lad in a baseball cap who believes that the speed and volume of the drum n bass he plays directly affects the quickness of his car. Don’t forget there’s a strong possibility that he has customised more than the body, the stereo system and the exhaust, chances are those bright red brake callipers are his work, too. Get out of the way, the only thing stopping this car is going to be the back of yours.

Any Volkswagen except the Beetle.
Yep if you drive with the aggression of German foreign policy in the late 1930s you are almost certain to have gone for a German car; a beamer or an Audi for example. However, if you are an absolute, raving, barking lunatic and drive with levels of aggression that makes the way the Taliban treat their women folk look cuddly, your choice of car will undoubtedly be a VW. Just as “the car in front of you is a toyota” the car behind you - the one tailgating you at so closely, even at well over the speed limit, that you are beginning to wonder if the guy is going to actually park it inside your boot or whether it got hooked onto your bumper somehow at the last set of traffic lights - is a Volkswagen.

If you have ever thought about having the word “nutter” tattoed on your forehead but worry that it might be a little distracting at job interviews and adversely affect your career then not to worry. You can still send out the same message, just buy a VW Golf… or a Bora. It’s a little more expensive but no less eloquent.

Yes, that’s right, three.

Remember kids, don’t try this at home and adults, if you do, remember to let him out for a walk every now and again, ok?

Ever had that tricky motorway conundrum when you happen upon a bloke in a Volkswagen Bora or big Merc going at 60 in the middle lane on the phone?

You want to cruise at 70 so you want to overtake but when you start to pass they suddenly accelerate until you realise you’re both doing 110 and being the non-moron, you chicken out. They disappear out of sight and two miles later you catch them up only to repeat the process. Eventually they stop bothering to disappear, merely accelerating when you try to pass and dropping back to 60 when you give up. Well… After 40 miles, this starts to get wearing so here is how I jump them.

Let another car pull into the gap between you and them. This way they won’t notice you gaining. Wait for an beamer to come phanging down the fast lane at about 100 miles an hour. Gear down. As the beamer passes slip out behind him. Make sure you’re close. Pass and relax.

Option two, for drivers of vehicles endowed with more acceleration. Sit behind the target for a few miles to lull them into a false sense of security. Gear down. Have a quick check to that the coast is clear of speed cameras, coppers, dodgy on ramps, parked up vehicles on the hard shoulder and other motorists, you’re about to be naughty and you want to make sure the chances of an accident or 3 points are as low as possible.

Coast clear?

Good.

Now floor it.

By the time he realises somebody has dared to over take him you will be doing 100 miles an hour, 800 yards away and gaining fast. He won’t have had time to see you’re a woman so he’ll assume you’re one of him.

Make sure you maintain the stupid speed for 15 seconds or so, otherwise he will overtake you back and then resume his phone call, but this time, going at 60 in the fast lane where you will have to be seriously illegal - and a bit dangerous - to overtake. Once you’ve got about 800 yards ahead you can usually drop back down to the speed limit again. If you think he’s noticed you’re female, you may have to carry on speeding until you’re round the next bend, over the next hill or past the next whoop of lorries before dropping back down to the speed limit again.

Occasionally you will get a tough one and then the only way to overtake is to break their resolve in a deadly game of speeding chicken (deadly because the kinds of speed Mercedes and VW Bora drivers go when they are off the phone is the kind of speed that gets you in deep doo-doo) I tend to test these ones by going rather quickly for about half a mile. This will ensure they go back to their phone call and give up or give up their phone call and go on, either option is a result.

If they go on, it doesn’t matter because they’re going to be crusing at at least 110 and you’re not so you can watch them zoom by, confident in the knowledge that you can cruise at a happy “perfect 70″ unencumbered by morons. If they give up they will resume their call and carry on creeping along in the middle lane at 60 while you bimble away at 70 with a clear road.

Ideally, everyone would maintain an even speed and those of us creeping along on the phone would stay in the slow lane. Unfortunately many drivers seem to think using the slow lane is tantamount to having “I’ve a very small willy” tattooed on their forehead. Ah well.