Why the speed trap claptrap?

Here’s a tricky question to answer – Why are speed cameras painted bright yellow?

I’ve ruled out “hiding place for canaries” already, by the way.

On my morning tootle along the A591 recently, I was just becoming aware of a van parked in the lay-by some way ahead when the chap in front of me braked hard down to 28mph, having identified it as one of the speed detector variety by it’s hi-vis markings.

I had to do the same to avoid going in to the back of him. What multiplied my irritation was that we were in a 60mph zone at the time. I’m also frequently irked by berks dropping to just under 30mph for the camera at Ings... which is in a 40mph zone.

Here’s a bit of starling news for these motoring morons – not all speed cameras are set to go off at 30mph. They are, surprisingly enough, tied to the speed limit area within which they languish.

And it’s not like you ought to get caught by surprise by one, either. Painted in a shade of yellow so bright you can get a tan from half a mile away, it really shouldn’t be a problem to be at the correct speed, and not jeopardise everyone else’s day by slamming the brakes on.

You could, of course, pay attention to what the speed limit is for that particular stretch of road, or brush up on your Highway Code if you can’t figure it out without the aid of a sign every couple of yards.

It’s well established that some drivers simply slow down enough to pass the cameras un-flashed, then accelerate off afterwards.

Giving them advanced warning and painting stuff a colour so bright you can see it with your eyes shut seems somewhat pointless, if the objective is to make us drive within the limit all the time, rather than just the 100 yards up the camera.

Wouldn’t it make more sense to disguise them? If you didn’t know where they were, aren’t you more likely to drive within the speed limit all the time, and not just when you see yellow?

It’s important to separate the purpose of the cameras as an aid to reducing deaths and serious injuries on our roads, from the argument that they’re just there to make money for the police and Local Authorities. Perhaps fines could be minimal, but the points on your licence the true penalty.

Contrary to what some drivers seem to think, the speed limit isn’t an optional thing, based on your peculiar belief that it doesn’t mean you, because you’re a modern-day driving legend, with the athletic skills and lightning quick reactions of Lewis Hamilton.

Despite the multi-million pound contract, excessive bling and World Championship trophies, Lewis is involved in several accidents a year, often because he’s going too fast.

Still, if there’s one thing guaranteed to brighten my morning, it’s seeing someone actually get flashed by a super high-visibility, heavily-signposted, speed camera.

Flash! Ah-ahh...

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in The North West Evening Mail, on the 24th of April 2015. You can view the version used by the paper on their website here.

This one went straight into their archive section again, uncredited, so it didn't get any comments - I suspect it would have been likely to garner some, had it been more visible, as it is a pretty emotive subject.

Apologies for the delay in posting - I've just got back from a lovely week away in Grassington in the Yorkshire Dales. True to our usual skill in timing, we were regularly told about how lovely and warm it had been last week, and tried to stay sanguine about the somewhat unseasonal snow, hailstorms and daytime temperatures cold enough to trigger the icy surfaces alarm in the car.

Never mind - it was relaxing, and I've consumed cappuccinos in sufficient quantity to have filled an sizable swimming pool, plus had the best bacon and egg roll ever. What more does an unshaven man clothed in inappropriately light garments need?

(After a week of random Amazon streaming of AutoRip albums, I'm back on the CD singles - currently Jean Michel Jarre's Oxygene 8.)

Shouting in the social media mirror

It was always tricky to fit everything you wanted into the intentionally short character count of Twitter, especially when, like me, you tend to write ridiculously long sentences that keep going on and on, with no discernible end in sight, until you start wondering what the point was in the first place. The maximum length of a text message originally limited a tweet to 140 characters, due to it being a common way to post your ramblings in Twitter’s early days. Ten years later, we’ve largely consigned texting to the tech dustbin, and after a lot of angst, the social media platform’s bigwigs have finally opted to double your ranting capacity to 280. Responses ranged from “You’ve ruined it! Closing my account!” to the far more common “Meh” of modern disinterest. As someone rightly pointed out, just because you have twice as much capacity doesn’t mean you actually have to use it. It is, of course, and excellent opportunity to use the English language correctly and include punctuat...

A fisful of change at the shops

A recent day out reminded me how much the retail experience has altered during my lifetime – and it’s not all good. I could stop typing this, and buy a fridge, in a matter of seconds. The shops are shut and it’s 9pm, but I could still place the order and arrange delivery. I haven’t got to wander round a white-goods retail emporium trying to work out which slightly different version of something that keeps my cider cold is better. It’ll be cheaper, too. But in amongst the convenience, endless choice and bargains, we’ve lost some of the personal, human, touches that used to make a trip to the shops something more than just a daily chore. Last weekend, we visited a local coastal town. Amongst the shops selling over-priced imported home accessories (who doesn’t need another roughly-hewn wooden heart, poorly painted and a bargain at £10?) was one that looked different. It’s window allowed you to see in, rather than being plastered with stick-on graphics and special offers calling ...

Making an exhibition of yourself

Now and again, it’s good to reaffirm that you’re a (relatively) normal human being. One excellent way of doing this is to go to a business exhibition. Despite what you might have surmised from reading my previous columns, I am employable, and even capable of acting like a regular person most of the time, even joining in the Monday morning conversation about the weather over the weekend, and why (insert name of footyballs manager here) should be fired immediately. The mug! True, there are times, often involving a caffeine deficiency, where it is like having the distilled essence of ten moody teenagers in the room, but I try and get that out of the way when people I genuinely like aren’t around to see it. As part of my ongoing experiment with what others call ‘working’, my ‘job’ involves me occasionally needing to go and see what some of my colleagues get up to outside the office, and what our competitors do to try and make sure that they do whatever my colleagues do better than ...

grumpyf1

Search This Blog