DITHERING

From the position of my motorbike, I could see down the street opposite the junction. The queue now stretched way down, a long distance past the church where a buzzing throng of new hats, best suits and shiny shoes had assembled in anticipation. Standing in a huddle in front of the lychgate I could make out four guys wearing the same outfits looking particularly stressed. One glanced right, along the line of stalled traffic. He could see maybe one hundred yards then a sharp bend shut out the chaos. Checking his watch, he said something to one of the others who pulled out what I assumed was a phone. 

I was on the opposite side of the junction three back from the crossroads. Never a busy place but today the snarled-up cars transformed it into a cauldron of tailpipe pollution and failing patience. I’d seen the whole thing. Watched it unfold in an almost theatrical manner. The nuns had started it. Rare to see these days as their numbers were in decline so I had been surprised to see two in a car as old as them. Their wagon a side valve Morris, from the 50’s I would guess, that laid a smoke screen as it waited to negotiate what was proving to be a difficult manoeuvre for them. 

I could see gaps in the traffic, quite big ones, visible a long way off. Plenty of time to decide you would think. Not so, the nuns seemed to have spent most of their life perfecting the art of dithering, evident now as they missed any number of suitable opportunities. I watched, I waited and I hoped along with the growing line behind me. A horn sounded adding pressure. Then another; more pressure. Another gap, another dither and another horn as the nuns let a huge gap pass by. Then hopes rose as another approached. The car took a jolt forward. Would it… no, I could see from the driver’s posture that this one would pass as well. 

Agitated. That’s what they became as they hesitated. But, as we all know, pressure equals anxiety until it culminates in a forced decision. In this scenario, a sudden cough of smoke as foot hit accelerator to provide enough power to launch the ancient beast to the middle of the road exactly when the gap was inadequate. And that’s as far as it got. Clearly life had become too big a challenge and it slumped to a halt as tyres squealed and steel bumpers clashed. 

That was the best part of a half hour ago. Now the place was clogged and static as police and rescue crews struggled to sort out the mess. The driver’s door of the car immediately behind the nuns had swung open and the driver sat comforting them on a nearby bench.  

Way down the street opposite, the guy by the lychgate was still on the phone. He said something to the most stressed of the four who disappeared towards the church. Then the guy took a couple of steps through the queue to stand on the white line at the centre of the road looking right. To the white limo, white ribbons fluttering, slowly coming the wrong way up the other lane. It stopped. The doors swung wide. The crowd surged and, even though I was a long way away, I could hear the cheering as a white dress glided between two cars to stand under the cover of the lychgate.  

All smiles and happiness down there. The white Roller backed into a driveway, swung onto the road and headed back the way it had come but this time on the proper side of the road. Tragedy averted… 

The nuns were just calming down when another roar filled the air. Registering the sound the man with the nuns suddenly looked towards the church. Said something and crossed the road to his car. Panic then set in. Running his finger around his firm white collar he stared at me and I immediately understood his problem. Unless the traffic cleared soon, hearts were still in danger of being broken. I swung my leg over the seat of my bike and stepped onto the tarmac thinking maybe I had a solution.