The Very Angry Frog Prepares to Take Down Delivery Drivers
I tell you this with every ounce of rage stored in my damp, amphibian soul: Whitehaven is under siege. Not by Vikings, not by storms, not even by the usual scourge of seagulls with criminal intent — no, the true curse upon this town is the endless, ceaseless, infernal parade of delivery drivers who have turned our roads into a lawless, van‑shaped nightmare.
From my vantage point — a respectable puddle near the roundabout — I witness horrors that would make a grown tadpole weep. These drivers appear to operate under a sacred oath: Thou shalt never indicate. They swerve, they lurch, they stop dead in the road as if struck by divine revelation, usually to deliver a parcel containing something deeply essential, like a novelty mug or a pair of socks with avocados on them.
And the vans. The vans. Great lumbering metal beasts, multiplying faster than frogs in spring. Every street in Whitehaven now resembles a congested artery in the circulatory system of a very unhealthy giant. They block pavements, they block junctions, they block my favourite sunning spot outside the Tesco. One even parked directly over my puddle last week, leaving me stranded like some tragic amphibian Robinson Crusoe.
Worst of all, they drive with the urgency of creatures who believe the fate of the universe hinges on delivering Sharon’s scented candles before 3pm. I’ve seen them tear down the harbour road with such velocity that even the gulls scatter — and gulls fear nothing.
I say this not as a frog, but as a citizen of Whitehaven: enough is enough. If the curse of the delivery driver continues unchecked, soon there will be no roads left, only vans stacked upon vans, a metallic labyrinth from which none shall escape.
And I swear on my lily pad — the next one that splashes me is getting a strongly worded croak.
The Very Angry Frog 