After three months of the daily commute from SW London I'm still not sure whether the cyclists or the scooterbois present the most lethal threat. Yesterday it was contact with a twunt of a cyclist who'd decided to cycle the wrong way down Borough High Street, south of London Bridge. The road's seriously dug up, and down to one lane heading north only, and there ain't enough room to filter on either side of the vehicles, but this clown thought he'd try it anyway, the wrong way. However, this morning... ...."She's pulling out from the left. Hit the horn.... BEEP!... No, she's still pulling out, blind bitch on the school run, hit the horn again.. BEEEEEP! No, the homicidal cow isn't stopping, hit the anchors hard. Wow." And scooterboi behind me manages to lock up his front wheel and lob his Vespa which slid neatly into the arse end of my GN250. Bang. I stayed upright: he was sprawled all over the road. Fair play to him: he was terribly apologetic and bunged me a twenty for my shattered number plate. Dame to the front plastics of his hairdryer looked considerably more expensive to rectify. One down, half a million to go.