A cyclist in the city: This HGV ban is mighty. For us cyclists, at least. For the poor unfortunate drones on the M50, perhaps less so. I feel for them. But what can I do? I'm aware I'm in an enviable position, being able to cycle to work. Sure, it's no fun much of the time, but I'm normally helped along by a surging wave of self-satisfied smugness when the going gets tough.
But no cloud of conceit could protect me from the HGVs. Hulking behemoths breathing bloody death, they rendered large swathes of the city no-go areas for cyclists. They've killed 16 of us in Dublin in seven years alone.
But now HGVs are gone. The dark clouds of doom have lifted from the killing fields, revealing Elysian meadows filled with gambolling pedestrians darting happily through fleets of joyous cyclists. How idyllic.
Or is it? Soon after the imposition of the ban, I was breezing down the quays, thinking how fortunate I was to live in such a progressive city, when I was blown off balance by a passing four-axle lorry, on to the pavement and into the arms of a startled German pedestrian who was minding his own business, innocently taking snapshots of junkies.
Which begs the question - what exactly is the difference between being flattened by a five-axle lorry and a four-axle one? Can you see what I'm driving at here?
Composure regained, irate tourist placated, I remounted my aluminium pony. But mere yards down the road, I was overtaken by a hurtling Spanish truck whose driver picked that exact moment to chuck his lit cigarette out of the window.
Naturally, yours truly copped it square in the chops. Had my mouth been open at the time, it would have flown in and lit my face up like a Halloween pumpkin.
Luckily, my closed lips deflected the butt up my nose instead, causing me to swerve back on to the pavement, where I managed to dislodge the burning embers just before being overcome by the pain and the stench of burning bogeys.
Sad fact is, it's not the first time that has happened. I imagine it won't be the last. (That's only the tip of it. Ever had a taxi-driver's gob square in the face? Not recommended. Who'd have thought a gentle pedal to work would leave you at risk of severe facial burns and/or a dose of hepatitis?)
So you'd expect me to support Ash Ireland's calls for smoking to be banned in all vehicles, private or otherwise, on safety grounds. Ash argues that holding, flicking and stubbing out cigarettes - or, more pertinently, lobbing them out of windows - distracts from driving and is dangerous. They have a point. I imagine more than a few crashes are caused by drivers dropping butts on to their laps and flipping out.
But there's two major problems with a ban. First, how to police it? The same way the mobile phone ban is currently enforced? Even the most cursory glance at passing traffic can see how well that's working.
Secondly, banning smoking might actually kill more people than it saves. Imagine how many road rage murders there would be if people stuck in interminable traffic jams had the nicotine plugs removed from the kegs wherein their fury is contained?
For many people, their cars are their sanctuaries. As long as they don't bother anyone else, and refrain from using cyclists as target practice, let them at it. I'm prepared to sacrifice my beautiful face to prevent the carnage.
In fact, I'm going so far as to investigate the feasibility of gluing an ashtray on to my cycling helmet to facilitate motorists at traffic lights. Of course, some motorists would be exempt from this magnanimity. I speak of the mental midgets who smoke with their kids in the back.
When I'm Emperor of the Universe, such cretins will have their children taken from them. Then they'd be allowed a last cigarette before being sterilised.
