It is sad, but true, that in general many South Africans have little respect for, not only the law, but to those responsible for implementing it.
The woonga boys a.k.a. the so-called “car guards” in Scott Street and then those ladies of the night who operate with impunity in Park Rynie and Scottburgh.
Travelling from my home in Scottburgh South to town via Collocot Drive, I noticed during the course of last year that a young slip of a girl had taken up station along the road and was scouting for business on this busy road!
I suspect that she found business a bit slow because last weekend I noticed the same woman, wearing what she obviously regards as a provocative outfit, now operating right in the Scottburgh CBD AND directly opposite the police station!
Surely, she cannot be a genuine prostitute? Or maybe she is part of a sting operation to catch her clients red-handed.
A few weeks ago, I commented on the danger of becoming embroiled in a road rage incident.
Well, words do come easy as will be seen in the incident that follows.
I had cycled along the heavily overgrown section of the Sani2C trail that runs alongside the N2 and, after descending down to the Renishaw causeway, I discovered to my dismay that construction work was being done and no traffic could cross the Mpambanyoni River at that point.
A bit disgruntled as I then had to cycle up the steep incline towards the Umdoni workshops and then over the N2 to the R102.
Since my morning cycle was shortened by a few kilometres because the causeway was closed to traffic, I decided to cycle along the R102 towards Rocky Bay where I could have a few minor adjustments done to my bike at the Saddle Shack.
As I reached the National Tumble Inn, I was cycling at 42 kilometres per hour, but I was oblivious to the fact that Lady Luck or my guardian angel had settled on my shoulders.
Suddenly a red VW Golf travelling north cut across the road right in front of me.
I braked as hard as I could and swerved to the right, fearing that I was about to collide with the rear wheel of the car.
Fortunately, my front wheel just missed the car by a millisecond.
My momentum carried me into the north bound lane, and it was here that the ladies on my shoulder played their part.
There was not a single car heading north at that time, otherwise last week’s column would have been my final one. Relief turned to anger, and I sped after the car and when it stopped at the Montana Centre, I stopped right next to the car.
The driver was a youngish woman with a skin tone a darker shade of pale.
After I had vented my feelings, her response was simply, “I am sorry!”
I concluded my comments in the vernacular which she could understand, and resumed my journey, feeling embarrassed that I had become party to a road rage scene.
Don’t ever think that it cannot happen to you, and if it should, I hope that your reaction will be more controlled than mine.
“Even a worm will turn!”
