THERE’S little in life more annoying than a traffic jam.

It has been my view for some years that anybody stuck in a queue caused by a crash should be able to sue whoever was initially responsible for the accident.

Imagine if you missed the birth of your child or the cremation of a close relative because some loathsome poltroon ploughed his pimped-out Corsa into the central reservation while reaching for a fag.

It’s common sense that you should be due some financial recompense, especially nowadays when you can essentially sue anybody for anything.

This thought was near the front of my mind when on Monday night, having been at work for 12 hours, I set tyre on the A20 only to be confronted by stationary traffic for as far as the eye could see.

By the time I got home my tea was ruined, both my son and my daughter had gone to bed and my wife was hogging the TV remote control – her conduct alone enough to throw me into an unrestrained rage at the lorry which had learned the hard way that those four black, rubber things at the bottom of most vehicles facilitate peregrination far more effectively when they’re in contact with the ground.

Don’t get me wrong – if someone is hurt or killed in a smash that wasn’t their fault, then a few people not getting home in time for Holby City isn’t really the issue. But with much of the driving I see every day, it’s a miracle anyone at all gets to work and back.

For instance, why do people wait so long before getting in lane to leave a motorway? When I see the sign that indicates there’s half a mile to my junction, I generally consider it a good idea to get in the left-hand lane as quickly as I can. But most drivers seem to prefer to wait until there’s 10 metres between them and their exit before a cursory single flash of the indicator, crossing all three lanes at 100mph, running over the zigzags and getting within three quarters of a millimetre of the back bumper of the car in front in a smoky cloud of brake dust and sheer, pig-headed ignorance.

Another example - on Monday, the fact that two lanes of the road were closed was indicated to everyone – well in advance – by way of two big red crosses on the matrix boards above those lanes. Most people dutifully pulled over as soon as was practicable. Then, inevitably, a big black BMW soared round the outside of everyone – pushing in, basically – and some sap at the front let him in.

That also annoyed me. Why let him in? Surely, it’s far better to leave him sat there – preferably for ever.

My drive to work and back would be a joy were it not for the behaviour of these cretins, who cause me problems every single day.

But while the only alternative is public transport – a thoroughly joyless experience in all its forms – I’ll have to take my chances on the motorway.