While I could still use sticks to walk a few paces, I used to nip up to the chemists on the High Street and park in a dedicated bay while I was in the shop. When I got there one time, there was an obvious imposter in the bay. I circled around a couple of times, building up a head of steam, and then backed into the bay as he was leaving.
Injudiciously, I wound down my window and told him what I thought of him. He was still there, double parked in his darkened-windowed BMW, when I left the chemist. I cursed myself for aggravating this weasely, nasty piece of work, but hobbled to my car nevertheless and started off, trying to ignore him.
He snaked after me! He kept very close. I knew the streets round the chemist very well, though. So I took a left when I could and weaved through them. He stayed right behind. Next, I took him fast over some speed-bumps, reckoning that he would value the chassis of his BMW more than I would be bothered about my car.
I glanced in the mirror. He was still there, clearly enjoying himself. I noted his number and thought of making an emergency stop, and claiming against him on the insurance when he crashed into me. But then I noticed a street with a no-entry sign on my right. The next time round our circuit, I abruptly turned right the wrong way up the one-way street.
I waited for a while a little way up the street and then turned back. The enemy had disappeared. I half expected him to be blocking my parking bay when I got home but it was clear, and I congratulated myself on a more exciting and unusual visit to the shops, over a steadying cup of tea.