A strange realisation dawned on me yesterday, as I sat in traffic at the Dartford Crossing once again. I used to be a fairly easygoing sort of guy. I used to queue in traffic without complaint. I used to sit calmly, the light smile of the Pharaohs on my lips in jams of almost any duration. But not any more. It's true I'm inexorably approaching my fortieth birthday, but surely mere age can't explain my transformation. Maybe when I'm fifty*, but not now.

So what is it? The thunderbolt of insight that hit me was the realisation of what the M25 is actually for. I know there are those that would argue that the M25 is for conveying cars round the outskirts of London. But that's clearly wrong. For a start, cars are mainly conveyed up to the rear bumper of the car in front at which point they stop. No, it's a giant machine. A giant machine whose main purpose is to convert normal easygoing people such as myself into grumpy bastards. The only possible explanation for this is that the Government wants to maintain a large pool of angry men (or women) in case they want to raise an army. I'm betting that at least 50% of the people who regularly commute on the M25 are so frustrated they would welcome the chance to lash out at pretty much anyone.

Good job I worked it out.

*Obviously when I actually am fifty I'll have to edit this and put sixty instead. And so on.