Anger Management: Number plates

Apologies if this offends the sensibilities of anybody reading this. I am heading into Grumpy old Man territory. Actually have probably already moved in permanently if the truth be known. Why do people feel the need to buy personalised number plates ? What logical purpose do they serve ? And can anyone come up with a good reason why anyone would buy one other than for other people to notice. And what exactly is the message which they are tring to convey to those other people ? And is that really a message to be proud of ? Is it just an extremely sad indication of the worrying nature of people’s priorities these days ? Maybe there is something which I am missing. 

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2 Responses to “Anger Management: Number plates”

  1. Belle Henned Says:

    Oh I hear you!

  2. thegreatgrapeape Says:

    Yes. I was grateful for your confirmation last weekend that I was not the only person tearing their hair out at the fact that it feels like the human race (or a human race which has any sense of what it really feels like to be alive and which celebrates that which is really valuable) is coming to an end. I feel like I live in another time indeed. See also the musings of Stephen Duffy at http://www.thelilactime.com . Oh, I agree with him. I nearly started a road rage incident yesterday with one of your “meme” drivers. No respect or consideration for any other road users ? Tick. Overtaking when it was mad to do so and in such a way that everyone else on the road had to slam on their brakes to avoid an accident ? Tick. Driving straight out of a T junction into a flow of traffic in the expectation that someone would give way and nearly causing a pile up ? Tick. Getting into the wrong lane at traffic lights and then jumping them to get ahead of the traffic in the correct lane and again nearly causing a pile up ? Tick. I half followed her to wherever she was headed (in order to ask whether she had any sense of responsibility whatsoever) before deciding that me losing my rag was not going to help matters. Hey ho – the joys of grumpy middle age.

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