Priorité à droite

Having little else to occupy their time, bureaucrats the world over devote their lives to deciding how the rest of us should live. Regulations abound, principally to ensure that we are protected from burning ourselves on hot pie fillings, tripping over curbs, drinking fruit scented shampoo or otherwise curtailing our existence before our allotted hour. It’s refreshing then to find suitably arcane laws which have escaped the notice of the powers that be. Par example, that you can still claim trial by mortal combat in Blighty – which could make arguing about that parking fine all the more satisfying. But still a bloody sight less dangerous than le version Francaise – viz. pulling out from a minor road onto a major one without bothering to check what’s coming.

And the uncertainty of the whole ‘priorité à droite’ thing gives a certain frisson of excitement to what might otherwise prove an uneventful and serenely traffic free drive. Ahead the road rises and falls, the woodland and fields on each side providing the kind of landscape you’ve always dreamed of. Malherusement, it also harbours a handful of aged conducteurs who, heedless of life & limb (theirs and yours), choose to exercise their right to trundle into the path of oncoming traffic.

Thankfully it’s a rare event, and given their chosen mode of transport will most likely be an ancient Renault van – effectively a four wheeled crumple zone with the structural integrity of a baked bean can - any contretemps is likely to favour you. Unless it’s a tractor, when it won’t. So best then to proceed with caution – especially when spotting any Massy Ferguson mounted farmer or passing the local maison de retraite. And if in doubt, buy a Volvo.