My summer rage has descended as tourists disregard highway code

I was worried that I might remain sane and stable this season, which is of no creative use at all – but thankfully, on Wednesday morning, as I travelled the eight miles to work at 25 miles per hour behind a small car which seemed entirely oblivious to the national speed limit, the queue behind them and the existence of passing places, the fury ­arrived in all its glory.

Of course, it could be worse – I could live in Skye, or on the NC500 – or I could be in Paris at the moment. The French would probably have taken to the streets over the disruption by now, if only they could get to them.

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I recall a school trip to Paris where our coach spent more than an hour stuck in a lane on the roundabout at the Arc de ­Triomphe as we – and I suspect the ­driver, – wondered if we might be best to make camp and give the sightseeing up as a lost cause.

The roundabout, known as the Place Charles de Gaulle, is a major traffic ­circle connecting 12 avenues, including the famous Champs-Élysées.

It’s one of the most iconic and busiest roundabouts in the world. Take that on a bad day and extrapolate it across Paris this weekend and we have little to complain about in an island community encompassing 11 miles by four and which is constrained by the amount of vehicles a ferry can bring – but complain about it we do.

Some years my arguably ­unnecessary rage has been triggered by vehicles ­abandoned in passing places, other years by those who choose to ignore my polite pleading about driving on the machair.

This summer rage is a phenomenon I’ve been observing over the years. And I’m not alone in suffering from it.

It doesn’t discriminate – it arrives whether you make a living from tourism or not. After all, when you are used to empty roads, ­building in an extra 15 minutes for ­every journey in order to offset the risk of ­meeting ­wombles is something it is easy to forget about. Until you are running late.

Locally, the traffic-induced irritation is a great indicator of the number of ­visitors. We express surprise when “it’s not kicked in yet”, which suggests the ­season is ­quiet. When it properly kicks off, we ­console each other in the shop aisles with ­reminders that it will be over soon.

It’s a summer conversation topic in the same way that the lack of rain/heat/sun/ferry space and quality of grass (­delete as applicable) are. The complaining gets us absolutely nowhere, but it is very ­therapeutic.

Building in an extra 15 minutes so that people can enjoy our scenery and ­contribute to our economy is a first-world problem if ever there was one – ­unless you are a member of the emergency ­services, or in need of them.

Then it ­becomes life-threatening. Our first ­responders ­travel in their own vehicles with full beam ­headlights, indicators going and the horn at the ready and still visitors are often oblivious. That’s an observation failure on their part and education failure on ours and the organisations who are ­recommending they visit.

I have, as a childless cat woman with apparently little to do and no stake in the future, spent more than a few ­minutes contemplating solutions.

We could ­campaign for education ­posters on the boat – or stump up and pay for them. We could cause utter ­chaos by stopping every arriving ­vehicle and ­issuing them with a wee leaflet. Some might ­suggest that we could ask the ­council to put up some signs about ­driving on ­single track. We did that – they smiled and ­nodded and no signs were forth-coming.

Personally, I don’t think signs are ­adequate. If I was in charge, all first-time visitors boarding the ferry would be forced to watch a 10-minute instructional video about using single-track roads and passing places before they were allowed to access the cafeteria. They wouldn’t get to return to the car deck without ­completing a short test.

The first question would be: “Should you ever pull over to the right?” Failure to answer correctly would mean you were immediately returned to Oban.

We have our fair share of terrible ­drivers among the resident population – I have been known to acquit myself very poorly before now – but at least we don’t screech to a halt for a cattle grid. “Should you brake for a cattle grid?” would be my second question. For the uninitiated, the answer to both questions is “no”.

The third would be a multiple choice about emergency vehicles. “If a vehicle behind you has their lights on, flashers on and is tooting at you as the driver turns puce, do you A. Ignore them, B. Slow down, or C. Pull into the left as soon as is safe and let them pass?

In my imaginary film, there would be a thorough exposition about the difference between passing places and parking places, followed by a guide to the levels of wave to expect – and to offer – especially if you have transgressed and need to seek forgiveness through the windscreen. It would be complete with flashcards.

You might laugh, but there are indeed a whole variety of waves. It’s practically a language in its own right. And ­different islands have different dialects. In some ­islands, a single finger suffices to ­acknowledge the other driver. Not that finger. Although it might depend … In Tiree, there’s a sort of single ­movement from left to right with two and a bit fingers which is considered perfectly polite and used for people you know, but not incredibly well. Some of us smile. If you don’t know the person from Adam and are 90% sure they don’t live here, then it’s essentially the same move but with less enthusiasm. We still wave though – not to wave is the height of ­rudeness.

The exception to the rudeness rule is the failure to wave for “educational” ­reasons. For example, if they have stopped to let you pass when you were already stopped and you have to move and then navigate around them, then you are entirely justified in not waving.

The same applies if they just passed a passing place and you are miles from one, but they don’t (or can’t) reverse and you have to. If you are towing, you are ­allowed to snarl. In both cases, if you don’t know them, then definitely no waving.

In our little bubble of cross, we assume that will make them think about their ­behaviour. They won’t because they have no idea why you didn’t wave and not enough insight into the weird workings of island road etiquette to know that they erred, but it makes us feel better.

Folks you know well get a proper cheery wave. When you get promoted from the basic wave to the cheery wave, it’s a great feeling. If you know someone and they don’t wave, then it’s quite the ­reverse.

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Much like when you got called to the headmaster’s office – that dread of ­working out what you did wrong. For me, it’s a handy barometer of how my latest missives on housing, tourism or ­architecture have landed.

Fortunately, it won’t be long before the summer ends, the rage evaporates and we all complain that business is down and ­begin planning for the winter. After all, new things to be annoyed at are welcome – it keeps life fresh.

And if you are yet to travel to the ­islands this summer, refresh yourself on the Highway Code, practise your wave and use your rearview mirror as the good Lord intended. Bon chance!