I think I may have encountered the worst driver today.
He was a big fellow, squashed into the front of his ancient, equally huge Volvo (though I suppose he could equally have been sat in the back as well).
At first glance, it looked like there was this cushion jammed into the car, with two little arms sticking out onto the steering wheel.
We were on a 60mph road and he was doing 28.
Even then he was braking at the sight of the slightest bend.
Maybe he couldn't see either over his belly or through his beard.
Anyway, I got past him, reminded him courteously that it was one o'clock and drove expertly (as always) all the way back to the mansion.
Then I remembered my father, King Sidney II, and realised that, sadly, he has to win the title.
He would accelerate into bends and brake on a straight road with nothing in sight.
He would speed up to traffic lights and put his foot down at give way junctions. He would signal the wrong way with his indicators, then make it worse by sticking his arm out of the window at the same time - still pointing the wrong way.
And he wouldn't have it that he was doing anything wrong.
He would tell us this, looking round at us - while he was driving.
He would tell us he'd never had an accident.
We'd tell him it was because people built their whole days around staying off the road during our trips.
Once the word got round we were on a family outing....miracle! the roads were always clear.
The worst of it was, my mum failed her driving test, so us kids had no choice: we just had to duck down in the back seats, close our eyes and let dad take the wheel.
Needless to say, we were always happy to walk to school.