How chocolate eclairs and marzipan pastries made me lose my marbles

Friday morning, last day before the weekend, everybody commuting towork; some by train others by bus or for the green left wing socialist hippies, by donkey...if they have a job that is. Most of them just sit there waiting till capitalism is overthrown by the next Stalin so they can all have free shoebox apartments instead of their current cardboard box. Enjoy some more socializing while queuing for 5 hours for some loaf of 10 year old bread and drive around in a car made from a tin can while leaving a cloud of blue smoke killing every animal on the planet that uses lungs to breath.

But for most of us the drive to work is done by car. Comfortablel istening to the radio while queuing to leave your driveway and get onto the clogged city streets. Everybody is equally generous. "He does not let you pass so why should I?"... And it works... we all know how the dance of rush-hour goes and we all stick to the same routine. And the proof we all can actually drive a car is when you see everybody travelling the opposite direction on a Friday evening...We all want to get home first and for that we repeat the same routine as in the morning but we all become a little Michael Schumacher... We think "oh I can fit in that space" or " he has seen me" and swerve with the speed of light in front of the other car and just when we are in front...a polite wave with the hand just to say "thank you for letting me pass and not having to take your bumper off in the process"... And then you are safe back on your driveway.

The weekend begins. Saturday is mostly gone before you know it. No big deal for those Stalin-I-love-you-and-every-day-is-Saturday hippies because al they do is sniff glue and get pieces of cardboard box out of their dreadlocks, but for us, the people who actually work and buy that fridge so they can live in it's aboard box, a Saturday only comes by once a week. So thank God for Sunday. You think let's get out for a drive, the sun is shining, you need to re-energize and what better place is there then the beach? Sunday mooning smiles at you when you leave your driveway...no queue.

However, just 5 meters down the road is a bakery. And then your penny drops...It's Sunday...and Sunday is already smiling just a little less at you...Why? ...

Because of people who only use their cars once a week. You know who they are....shiny new Ford Escort build in 1945 with only 5 km on the odometer, complete with original toolbox, never used and seats still in the factory plastic wrapping. All of them creating a bumper to bumper queue in front of the bakery going 3km/h...It's the world's dullest drive-by.... I shoot past them demonstrating my "mid-week-queuing" - abilities while giving them a look that clearly indicates that I am not interested in chocolate eclairs or any marzipan pastries. Now nothing can stop me reaching the beach in a record queue-free time....Right?... Wrong... you are not even 4 cm on the onramp of the motorway leading you to your sunny stress-free haven and the radio announces that cars are standing still for the next 6 million km due to a ...correct... queue.

Too late to turn back, behind me some more non Stalin fans are wanting to unwind on the beach and are blocking my only escape route...a quick 4 cm reverse off the onramp.....After driving the last queue free moments of what is now turning out to be a rather sarcastic smiling Sunday you see in front of you a sea of breaklights....You have arrived at the place where ulcers are born.....But the worst part.... is that you know the type of car that belongs to that sea of break lights.....As far as the eye can see....people in their brand new 1945 Ford Escort..... enjoying chocolate eclairs and marzipan pastries....

And that ladies and gentlemen is how chocolate eclairs and marzipan pastries made me lose my marbles.