Emissions/Kilian Doyle: Lemming: (1) Any of a species of various small, thickset rodents, especially of the genus Lemmus, primarily inhabiting northern Europeans regions. Known for periodic group migrations that sometimes end in mass deaths, often by drowning. (2) A city pedestrian
Ahh, the Lemming Pedestrian, or lemmingped as we in the business know them. A curious beast. Although a regular human in nearly all other respects, the lemmingped is missing a few vital characteristics. Firstly, the ability to understand three simple words: Stop, look and listen. You may as well speak some long dead Native American language to them, it just won't get through, Wanderly Wagon or no Wanderly Wagon. Secondly, they appear colour-blind, unable to distinguish between red and green. Their distance-judging abilities seem curiously impaired - and, finally, they often appear under the illusion that they are surrounded by an impenetrable force field.
The lemmingped is oftentimes a proud, haughty creature, striding out from the masses in its own solo march into the path of oncoming traffic, almost daring the lumbering vehicles to hit it. "No matter what happens, I'm in the right," its body language says, until it is ignominiously forced into a humiliating lunge for the pavement to avoid pulverisation.
Whatever the risk it poses to itself, this particular creature is doubly dangerous when one factors in the pernicious influence it can have on its more timid cousins. For the lemmingped is a social beast, travelling in huge packs around city pavements, blindly obeying its herd instincts. Should one lurch forward, there is huge risk of them all following, oblivious to the risks involved. Apologies to our rural cousins, I'm not ignoring you. It's just that the lemmingped seems to be a largely urban phenomenon - the country cousin is less prone to unquestioning communal loyalty, as country herds are, by their nature, smaller affairs altogether. The country lemming is more of the solo maverick type, by all accounts.
Terrifyingly, the lemmingped has a close cousin, and an even more dangerous manner of critter he is too. The rabbitped, with his habit of standing stock still, transfixed with confusion and fear, is an altogether more difficult beast to engage with. For he exhibits no outward signs of difference from his more agile cousin, thus creating the illusion in the mind of the motorist that he will move out of the way. Which, of course, he doesn't, with predictable consequences.
Our Government is fierce diligent, it must be said. They've got licences for driving cars, vans, tractors, buses, motorbikes, all manner of road-going vehicles. There probably should be licences for cyclists, but that's another matter. So why not pedestrians?
I propose this be inscribed in the Constitution: "In the case of impending collision between a moving vehicle and a pedestrian, the pedestrian should move out of the way." And not being able to quote it should fail you the examination for the pedestrian licence. If you haven't got a licence, or you've lost it through drunk-crossing or other means, then you can only cross if someone with a ped licence holds your hand. How's that?
I suspect the Government would reject such a notion out of fear of the consequences to its own members. Let me elaborate: Whilst careering along St Stephen's Green on my bike some months ago, I came within inches of turning a certain junior minister into lemming paté. In pure, unadulterated lemming fashion, this estimable gentleman popped his little snout out from between two parked cars, peered right through me, seeing only the empty road behind, and embarked on a nervous yet surprisingly speedy scuttle towards the Shelbourne. Sharp reflexes and strong repression of my anarchist tendencies are all that saved him. I'm beginning to regret my magnanimity. Next time he won't be so lucky