My favourite exchange of the day today was at the bank when I was paying in a cheque and  the clerk said 'I should charge you £5 for this, but the manager at the bank here's really pissing me off, so you can have it for free.'  

I was back on my bike this morning for the first time in ages, and as an urban cyclist you can easily develop prejudices about the drivers of various so-called 'prestige' marques, their character, and their behaviour on the road. Over time these prejudices get challenged: for example, you'll encounter a number of polite, considerate BMW drivers, or a Jaguar driver will cut you up. But one of mine still remains steadfast: that there is no reason whatsoever to drive a Range Rover except to demonstrate that you're a [insert most vile expletive here]. If you have a personalised number plate on your Range Rover then you're clearly a real [again], and if you're also driving while on the phone, then really you should consider your reasons for existing on the planet at all. Somebody prove me wrong, please. Well, anyway, this morning I rode past a Range Rover (and I wish I'd stopped and taken a photo to prove I didn't just imagine this) with the number plate AR51OLE - you have to squint a bit to get the idea. At least the owner was honest.