Just days after watching Bullitt, blow me down, I was involved in a car chase of my own. Completely unsuspecting of what was to come, it began as soon as I backed out of my space in the big Sainsbury’s car park.
The Micra was on me right away, clinging to my tail as we sliced through corners to the soundtrack of squealing tyres. I’ve never previously considered myself a racing driver, but it’s amazing what instincts kick in when your very survival is at stake.
Even at the height of the tension, we had to stop the chase several times for the Sunday shoppers and the occasional buggy. At these intervals I caught sight of my tormentor in the rear-view mirror. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the DVLA had their eye on her. She looked to me to be too old to be driving, if she could even see over the steering wheel.
While the shoppers carried on loading their shopping into their cars, the chase continued, finally fizzling out when we made it to the car park exit and went our separate ways.
As I drove off, my heart still racing, I glanced at the Micra in mirror, heading back towards the town like a bat out of hell, no doubt to go and terrorise some other unsuspecting citizen.
vss #3
Phillip Drown 