IT is an early autumnal morning. I am driving from Haddenham to Huntingdon.
In the distance I spy a band of people dressed in a makeshift uniform of unmatched items, which steam slightly in the cold air. They rub their hands, doubtless wishing they had their beloved flaming oil drum, but then remembering that this is a covert operation. One of them strokes a weapon lovingly.
I get nearer. I identify them. It's the Speedwatch Platoon! The Speedos!
I am now within range and observe the glint in the eye of the Obersturmführer as he grabs the weapon and points it towards my oncoming vehicle.
Nearer still. He arms the weapon, He takes aim. He fires.
'Damn! Only 28', I hear him splutter, followed by a muffled 'and you mate' in response to my passing gesture of goodwill. The rest of the platoon shuffle away. Silent. Crestfallen.
I pass unchallenged. I have survived. I can continue my life.
They're a sad lot, the Speedos - a cross between Neighbourhood Watch and Neighbourhood Spies.
I decide to write a letter suggesting that the activities of these self-appointed speed vigilantes are unnecessary, undemocratic and their goals unrealistic. Further, their actions seem somewhat sinister considering we have a well-respected and competent police force.
I can't help drawing parallels: 'Today the 30mph limit, tomorrow the world.' I hope not.