Winkers

"Working. Oh no, now they're not. Are. Not. Are. Not ..." A mechanic in the garage of a tiny, remote settlement (with tumbleweed) relays the status of the indicator lights to the (by now) increasingly concerned car owner. I'm reminded of this tale almost every time I have to drive anywhere in London, which happily isn't often. Ever found yourself following a car through a variety of road junctions, wondering if it's indicator lights were broken? Only to find that suddenly, for some unfathomable reason, a manoeuvre no more deserving than any previous, appears to merit a nudge on the indicator stalk, and a light flickers intentions to go left or right. It was probably just an accident caused by reaching for the mobile phone, or a cigarette, or the mp3 player, or an A-Z, or a sandwich ...