Cross or What?

I'VE BEEN doing a lot of waving recently, mostly from the side of the road. It's the traffic, you see, and it just won't stop.

There's a zebra crossing near our house, taking us to the park where the children play and the dog does some serious cavorting. It's a proper zebra crossing: flashing Belisha beacons, none of this Pelican traffic light nonsense.

But that's the trouble; no-one takes the slightest bit of notice anymore. Unless it's a red light forcing drivers to stop, nothing happens. We've waited at the side of the road and watched car after car sweep past us in blissful ignorance. Or perhaps wilful disregard, it's difficult to tell when they go that fast.

Once, we thought we were in luck - cars approaching from both directions stopped to let us cross. All would have been well had an impatient woman in the queue not decided that she'd waited too long and pulled out of the line, onto the other side of the road, and roared past the queue, missing us by a hair's breadth.

So now I stand at the zebra crossing, waving in exaggerated greeting to the people who whizz past. Some of them even wave back.