I think it’s the ash. I’ve recently had two very unusual encounters with people who are both nutty or may have been turned nutty by the (volcanic) ash. They both looked normal, well insipid, which I suppose is normal. One was a tall, be suited man (in his fifties, weak left eye, six foot five, lofty in all aspects) on the underground who scolded me for not telling my son and his friend to stand up for him (there were seats but he wanted THEIR seats). He followed me up the escalator and tried to brow beat me, couldn’t look me in the eye (they never can) and I stood there, looking at him. ‘You’re a banker aren’t you. I said after listening to him tell me how he use to treat his elders when he was a child, realising that only a banker would have that heady combination of arrogance and ignorance that makes them so unworthy of the money they earn (give it to a footballer any day rather than these guys). Nutter number one. Nutter number two. A woman, (middle aged, plain, silver Volvo, East Sheen), remonstrated because I tried to over take her. She was driving at ten miles an hour, so I went at twenty, then so did she, then I speeded up, then she stopped in front of me, blocking the car coming the other way, got out, banged on my window and said she was going to call the police. That I was driving by a school (long closed) and that, when I failed to call her the names she was calling me, told me she had two children in the car and I was a stuck up toffy nosed bitch. Nutter I thought. So I reversed back. ‘You’re going to ram me now are you!’ she shouted at me. ‘No I’m just trying to get as far away as possible from you,’ I replied. There are so many really important things in the world to get angry about, to rant about, but that is not one of them. Perhaps her husband was having an affair, perhaps she was menopausal, perhaps I don’t know what, and I don’t care, but her raving at me was nothing to do with my driving or hers for that matter. Perhaps she was the wife of nutter number one, in which case she had every right to be angry. She drove off eventually, not before telling the guy in front who she’d blocked while shouting at me why she had blocked him and then drove off, slowly, I trailing behind her. She couldn’t resist shouting at me one last time, before turning off, to which I gave in and gave her the finger. Only a little one.