The other evening I came quite close to having a nasty coming together with a pedestrian. Luckily I wasn't travelling at walking pace, but a second or two later and it would have been a different story.

It happened late at night outside Clapham Junction station in south London. I was waiting, a car's length back, at the traffic lights. To my right was the impromptu taxi rank, which has come into being because cabbies have decided to park in the middle of a two-way road.

And that was the problem. Commuters who have had a few, come rolling out of the station, spot the black cabs in the middle of the road and shoot off the pavement, hailing the cab with raised hand.

On this occasion the couple who lurched out of the dark and right across the front of Autocar's E350 were not only well hammered, but had run in front of me from my over-shoulder blind spot. And right at the point the lights went green.