I don’t WANT to go on about Queensland drivers, but they give me so much material, it’s bloody hard not to.

I managed to have a weekend away with my significant other this weekend just gone. The drama is getting south of Brisbane on the Pacific Highway on a Friday afternoon. What is usually a 2 hour trip very quickly can take all night.

Thinking I was clever, I arranged an EKO (Early Knock Off) from work, and we left Brisbane around 2:45pm. What a shame the rest of Brisbane had the same idea. The highway very nearly became a car-park. And why do you think that is?

Because some genius has decided AGAIN that it’s his (or her!) God-given right to do 20 kph under the speed limit in the right lane. Even though my work colleague reminds me that it’s a speed LIMIT – not a CHALLENGE – I’m a big believer that the slower you go, the further left you should be (Americans please note, our lanes work in reverse over here).

I tried to count the cars on the highway on Friday night, but stopped when I reached 25,567,355 because I couldn’t work out if that lowered blue Commodore with the HUGE exhaust, HUGE wheels, MASSIVE rear spoiler and thumping stereo was one I’d already counted or not. The problem is that it only takes one idiot to do 20kph under the speed limit, and traffic comes to a standstill.

Don’t get me wrong, there are legitimate reasons why someone can’t manage the speed limit. Maybe their car is a little old, or maybe they’re waiting on parts for repairs. Maybe they’ve got a boot load of quails eggs. Or maybe the driver is just old, or lacks confidence. But if any of these apply to you, I’m telling you now – on behalf of every other driver out there – MOVE LEFT. FOR F**K’S SAKE!!!!!!!!!

And there’s one more thing. Can I just point out, for all the rocket surgeons out there, that the 1 second gap I leave between me and the car in front – which equates to slightly more than one car length – is NOT my invitation for you to slot yourself and your hotted up, 4 cylinder (two-stroke) piece of shit, into said gap – particularly if all the money you spent on your f**king stereo left you no cash to buy indicators!

In my 2-hour journey on Friday night, two (yes TWO) such surgeons decided that they absolutely HAD to be in that space. I responded by forcing my entire body weight against my horn for around 27 minutes to alert the drivers that I was not quite prepared for their strategic maneuvre.

This seemed to suddenly make ME the bad guy, and I’m sure I was the proud recipient of the one-fingered salute and a tirade of verbal abuse, of which I could not hear, or care less about.

Once again, this proves that driving a car seems to push some people to their performance limit. But there’s no sweeter justice than when you see that same car, 5km up the road, pulled into the emergency stopping bay with the bonnet up.