Please let me in, you P-plate pain. Frustration and near-misses on the highway to hell.

I need to get in that lane, and you’re doing everything you can to block my way.

I’ve done nothing wrong. My lane is about to end. I came to this position via a bridge, giving me no choice but to merge. My indicator has been on since you first spotted me. I’m being as patient as I can. But you won’t budge.

The arrows are directing me right. I’ll soon be heading for another state. You know this, because you travel this road every day too. Still, you are protecting your patch like it’s a family heirloom wrapped in bitumen.

I now have no choice. I must enter your precious lane. Of course, you will leave it until the last available second, forcing me to brush your front bumper. You’ll wave your arms or flash lights. And wait for the next sucker who happens to cross your path.

Is it just me, or are drivers getting more aggressive behind the wheel? Why is it so hard to let someone share the road?

I’ve had a licence for 31 years. Driven on busy city highways and empty country lanes. Never, in all that time, have I seen such frustration out there. And nowhere does it happen more than in merging traffic.

The scenario I’ve described is something that happens to me most mornings. I start out, hopeful, that my fellow road user will be kind. Time and again I’m disappointed.

On those rare, joyous occasions that someone does let me in, I give them a cheery wave. A thank you through the rear windscreen, to show my appreciation. In the hope that they might repeat the act to someone else.

Drivers of all ages and sizes will squeeze you out. But there’s one bunch who seem to be the worst.

At the risk of enraging a great many of you, can I be so bold as to suggest that young female drivers are on a mission, to make life hell for the rest of us.

They are easy to spot. The custom number plate, sometimes pink, courtesy of Dad. Their car is usually small and speedy. What these sweet things have in common, is an aggression behind the wheel usually confined to the racetrack.

They won’t give an inch. Like backing off is admitting defeat. Get out of my way old man!

I have no idea why. It could be another example of showing up the blokes. Or an ignorance of the needs of others. People doing no more than trying to get to work, or school, or footy training.

It wasn’t always like this. Their mums and grandmothers have always been the careful ones. Waving their fingers at males going too fast.

There are exceptions, of course. My niece, for one. Possibly because her parents gave her thorough and lengthy training. So many others seem to be missing that vital grounding.

The battle will resume this morning. Hopefully I can acknowledge some kindly soul, who understands that we don’t really need to be in that much of a rush.

Try it yourself. Between us all, maybe we can make some room on our roads. And if you let me in and you’re sporting a pink number plate, I’ll wave twice.

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