Pest of the Week

I have been commuting up and down the North Circular Road, Eastbound, to visit my sister who is seriously unwell, most days for the last three months. But even before my sister's illness the North Circular Road has been a major feature of my life, since all of my family lives North East of London and I live in North London. On occasion I have varied it with the M25, or hazarded a route through Holloway (here's a tip from me to any of you considering trying this route: don't.) But the North Circular, "when it works" (you have to say this with an accompanying weary shake of the head to achieve maximum effect) is the fastest direct way to get back to my roots and I have driven it literally hundreds of times. So I was pretty surprised to have a landmark pointed out to me by one of my family, that I have passed every single time and never once noticed. Surprising because it is uniquely bizarre. I was going to use the word quirky but quirky does not even begin to cover it. The landmark is on the Palmers Green stretch, on a street corner, and it is a Pest Control shop. Outside their shop they have a large board that says Pest Of The Week. Underneath there is a removable sign, the kind that you slide in and out, and this one says, The Brown Rat. Last week it said, the German  Cockroach, says my niece helpfully. Underneath the sign it says, to find out more how to rid yourself of this pest, call us on xxxx. I love this sign. It's like an anti-landmark isn't it. Most people look out for ice cream vans, bridges or town halls. In North London, it is Pest of the Week. I draw several metaphors from this. Their Pest may be the Brown Rat. Mine is the arsehole in the burnt orange Maserati who speeds past me on the outside lane, having forgotten how to use his indicators, so preoccupied is he with the demonstration of his sexual prowess via his, um, gearstick. Mine is the juggernaut of a Land Rover with one of those utterly pointless "Baby on Board" signs dangling from its back window (ie, because I have a baby in my car this gives me the right to drive a car that obscures everyone else's line of sight and makes for dangerous driving for everyone on the road except for me. Or, I have a baby in my car so you must not crash into me. Obviously, on the days when there is no baby in my car, crashing into me is encouraged). Mine is the Man in a White Van who talks unapologetically into his mobile phone with one hand and swigs beer with the other, pausing only to stick his head out of the window to stare at your boobs, or those of your passenger. Mine is the leather clad motorcyclist who has only just passed his driving test and is desperate to demonstrate his Hell's Angels credentials before he is out of his motorbiking nappies, so to speak. The list is endless (and overwhelmingly male. I know of course that your pest list could look radically different and feature a heavily female majority, including me quite probably, but that is a matter for you and your blog).  Hmm, the next time I pass the Pest of the Week landmark I am sorely tempted to stop the car, jump out, and daub over the Brown Rat in white paint the words YOU IN THE MASERATI WITH THE HUGE EGO AND THE TINY -----. It would do wonders for their business, and send the happiness quotient of North Circular Road commuters through the roof.