by Bob Clay
“Turn right now.”
Who is this silly tart in that Sat Nav box that keeps giving me orders ? “I’ll turn when I’m good and ready, and not before.” Hah, that’s telling her.
“You have missed your turning, stop and do a U turn as soon as possible.”
“I’ll bloody well do as I please and you won’t have any say in it. I don’t take orders, especially from bossy women. Up yours.” Oh yes, I was starting to enjoy this.
“You have deviated from your route, you should do an immediate U turn.”
“I deviated cos I’m a deviant, I’m free, I don’t take orders from anybody, especially a stupid bloody bint who lives in a small box. I make my own decisions and go where I please, something a being who lives in the tight confined world of a printed circuit board could know nothing about.” I glanced at the Sat Nav smugly, challenging it to defy me.
“You should stop immediately. STOP NOW!”
I laughed, loud and hard, but I should have listened, because while I had been talking to the bitch, a petrol tanker had suddenly braked to a halt in front of me. Just before I hit it, I’m sure I heard her laugh back.
Bob Clay lives in Cornwall.
The Pygmy Giant 