Don’t take a piece of paper to a knife-fight: Difference between revisions

A fellow was out on his bicycle, thundering down Cranley Gardens, as you do, enjoying the rush of wind through his thinning thatch and generally revelling in uncommon gratitude for the affordances — usually so depressing, for a man his age — of gravity. Cranley Gardens is steep, has a dogleg and a few intersecting crossroads that come at it from oblique angles. But straight-through traffic has the right of way — of that there is little doubt.  

Yet our friend —should we call her Prudence? —still took a measure of caution, constantly scanning the intersections. She stood ready to slam on the brakes should some damn fool pull out in front of her.

Behaviour only a young lad, still convinced of immortality, would query. And it seems to be stating no more than the bleeding obvious that the psychological satisfaction one might derive from ''knowing'' one was in the right, had been all along, and that the other man was utterly to blame, and liability entirely his, without question of mitigation or [[contributory negligence]] — runs a distant second to the inconvenience of the six months you'll spend in traction recovering, yes, at the tortfeasor’s soke and unlimited expense, and the painful therapy you'll need of you’re ever to walk again.