Changing lanes.

We nearly met our maker today on the outskirts of Rome - pity we're not Catlicks as that would at least be auspicious. The Italians drive like they're all in a Ferrari on a race track even if they're in a Fiat Bambina on a side street. Anyway we were on the autostrada going like the clappers (120kms) in the middle lane, which meant them in the fast lane were going like the clappers times ten. One car roared passed and Nigel was moved to say "they're going at least 200kms" and let's face it, he would know all about that, because one time he was driving home and was stopped by the PO-leece. They'd clocked him at 198kms which meant straight to the courthouse. As befitting his strategic self, he wrote a fabulous letter in advance, which not only got him off with a mere warning but as they called his case up and the speed he was going was read out, all of the bored clerks who'd not raised a hair at the GBH case prior ,were all moved to look up and see who it was that had managed to get that kind of speed out of a Peugeot. Anyway yesterday he needed all his Ayrton Senna skills as without warning a car transporter with about 20 Fiat Bambinas on it, decided it wanted to be in our lane immediately and in the fast lane beside us was an Audi with a bad case of diarrhoea hellbent on getting to the gabinetto ASAP. What this meant was for an agonisingly long time, we were forced to drive in the middle of the two lanes - me with my eyes closed and clutching Nigel's driving arm for all I was worth. There were blasting horns all around but miraculously we got out of it without a scratch (well only a tiny one on Nigel's arm).