Damien Enright: Unconscious survival facing the scourge of boyracers

Two monster tractors driven by boyracers, each towing a massive trailer, gun at high speed through the village, mounting the pavement I’m walking on.

I stay cool. I don’t follow the instructions of the life-preserving side of my brain to jump into the hedge of the cottage beside me but follow the instructions of the stupid side which says: “It’s okay, there’ll be at least two feet, that’s 65 whole centimetres, between you and the wheels as they pass.”