Motorway madness: re-writing the rules.

So its Saturday morning and I'm (yet again!) sitting in Starbucks having my morning dose of caffeine and willingly doubling the size of my hips.

My morning mocha does two things for me, firstly it keeps me from saving up too much money and secondly it makes up for spending the last 30 minutes on the M25 surrounded by madmen.

Now, this could be the part where I rant about female drivers- yes, I'm fully aware of the irony- or I could use this time to introduce my novel idea for a book.

I trust you've heard of the Highway Code and if you haven't then you should be shot. The Highway Code is a list of do's and don't's for road users, allowing all drivers to drive in a safe, albeit a tad slow, manner.

This is great, but is there a published book that tells people how to drive on a motorway?

As a result of my daily motorway journeys I have made a few observations and I believe these could seriously enhance the motorway experience for drivers and passengers alike.

Firstly, have you ever noticed that if you drive at 80 MPH in the middle lane (second lane if you're on M25) then the people in the left-hand lane drive faster to 'keep up'. This is a simple fact and one I believe we can use to our advantage. Not only does this eliminate slow drivers, but it also decreases accidents due to poor (slow) drivers as well.

The people that fall into the above category are the ones who drive at 50MPH in the slow lane, whilst listening to pre-recorded stories (read by themselves) in their car tape player and most likely driving a Volvo of some kind or another. This is of course excluding old people and wimps- lets face it neither should really be on the road.

My next motorway observation is the erratic driving and behaviour of the so called "Boy-racers."

Now, for this example I should point out that I currently drive a 2000 Reg, black Golf. It is not the most powerful vehicle on the road, but it does make a fantastic sound and bizarrely has the ability turn heads. Sadly the head turning isn't due to men looking at my car and thinking "Wow, what a set of wheels!" It tends to be a glance in my direction, a wink and a engine rev.

This is where I get a tad confused. Am I meant to participate in this testosterone race (you're in a 1.2 Saxo and you're not going to win) or just act my age and watch them accelerate into a lamppost. Believe me the latter is far more fun.

My initial thought was to discontinue the production of all Citren cars and ban all Saxo models from the road. But just as I congratulated myself on this genius plan a pimped-out Punto rattled past me at 95 MPH. Not impressed.

However, the world is not at an end and there is hope in the active culling of all body-kitted cars in Britain. It tends to come on those motorway-rammed rainy days, when the weather is so miserable you're left questioning your dedication to your job and when the radio stations are all playing the ultimate collection of suicidal anthems. There in the distance, pulled over in the lay-by, smoking away is a little hatchback. Through the blustering rain you can just make out a 17 year-old boy kicking his £5000 Alloy wheels (that's at least 5x more than the car is worth), swearing to the high heavens and wishing he'd bought a proper car.

If you are still not satisfied at the Boy-Racers comeuppance feel free to drive past them slowly, smirking away, windows down and singing through the rain "Things can only get better" by D:Ream. You may be surprised at how good it feels!

Alongside the children in their overpriced-pimp-machines a third motorway observation is the timid mid-life crisis men.

I'm not talking about the men in the DB9s, 911s or the SLRs here, I'm talking about the men who have the engine power but are too afraid to use it. Some cars are built to be practical and some are built to look, sound and drive like a dream. So why have a beautiful automobile if you're going to drive it like a child on its first day at school?

There is also a very simple solution to this one too, give me the car keys so I can race every boy-racer until their car self-destructs and voila, two birds with one stone.

So there you have the synopsis for my book: "How to drive on the motorway." Not exactly a work of art, but definitely something to mull over with a mocha in hand and a full days work ahead.