It may come as a surprise to the good people of Worksop, but in other parts of the country there is something called the Green Cross Code.
It’s taught in schools to raise awareness of pedestrian road safety and has been saving lives for more than 40 years.
One of the first things you learn as a small child is that the little lit-up red man at a crossing means stop and wait for traffic.
Only when he is replaced with the little lit-up green man should you attempt to cross the road.
It’s all pretty straightforward but is clearly a foreign language in this town. Because nobody waits for the little green man. Ever.
I’ve lost count of the number of times recently that I’ve had to slam the Bentley’s brakes on to avoid ploughing into some gormless idiot crossing the road without so much as a glance.
Old biddies on mobility scooters, mums with pushchairs, bare-chested scroats on BMXs, inebriates with their cans of super-strength lager.
All of Worksop’s rich tapestry seems to cross in front of your very eyes as you try to drive through town.
You wouldn’t be surprised to see a camel train cross in front of your bonnet.
The worst locations are Bridge Place’s intersections with Ryton Street and Newcastle Avenue.
Here, it seems, virtually anything goes. I can barely remember an occasion when I’ve been able to drive across these intersections without having to either brake sharply or give the evil eye to someone who has spotted me at the last minute.
And if you dare to point out to one of these morons that they might want to consider looking where they’re going get ready to get an earful of abuse.
The neon-lit, crowded, chaotic streets of Shanghai, Tokyo or Bombay must be easier to drive through than Worksop.