It's the people's disposition: 02 (Singapore / UK)

I grew up in Singapore where people were practically always impatient.  (Can't speak for now, as I left in 1974.)

    I used to put this down to the weather:  it's not easy to be placid and calm when you're hot and clammy all the time.  (Average temperatures high 20s to low 30s; humidity around 80% most of the time.)

    In my childhood days, drivers would honk impatiently at people crossing the road if they didn't quicken their pace at the sight of the approaching vehicle, as if the drivers had priority by right.

    Drivers would hoot at the first vehicle at a set of traffic lights if it didn't shoot off as soon as the lights turned green.

    In my early days in London, I'd witnessed the opposite on more than one occasion.  The first driver at the lights hadn't even had his/her first gear engaged, ready to charge off when the lights turned green (which was what was expected in Singapore in my childhood days).  The other drivers would patiently (and quietly) wait for that first driver to get the car into the first gear and move off.  I was very impressed at how civilised people were.  (Not anymore, I must add, from what I've seen in recent years.  People are starting to behave badly.)

    I'd always put it down to the weather in both cases (Singapore and Britain).

    Some generalisations here from my own experience to support my weather theory (yes, Valerio, generalisations, but from my own experience):  people from Mediterranean countries are much more excitable than Scandinavians who are calmer and more softly spoken.

    However, a student once complained to the co-ordinator about my moving the young man next to her to another seat because she kept talking to him in class while the teaching was in progress.  She said, "My Latin temperament doesn't quite get on with her style."  (No, she's not Italian.)  So, even she herself acknowledged that there's such a thing as temperament (or disposition).

    Therefore, it's not just the weather, although the hot and humid weather must make the blood boil more quickly as well.  It must be the temperament of Singaporeans (in my childhood days anyway) as well.

(Singapore, 1960s–75; UK, 1977 onwards)

Being challenged to a car race (Singapore)

I’d passed my driving test at age 18, the minimum age for taking the test.  

My mother had, only a year or so earlier, swapped her Morris Minor for a Datsun 1200.  The “1200” was 1200cc here, I think.

Late one night, I was sitting at a set of traffic lights near Thompson Road, practically devoid of traffic at that hour, minding my own business, waiting for the lights to change, when I heard, to my right, a car being revved up repeatedly: vroom, vroom, vroom.  I turned round and saw the source of the noise: a car in the next lane, with its owner — a young man — looking at me in a raised eyebrows “well, how about it?” way, obviously challenging me to a car race.

Not being very much into cars, I couldn't tell what the make of the other car was, but as my Datsun was only a 1200, and from the confident challenge thrown at me by the other driver, I knew that my car wouldn’t be up to the level of the speed expected on the straight run, i.e., I'd be trounced hands down.

However, I knew my car well enough for a quick off-the-(starting-)blocks head start for the first three gears, as I could change gears very quickly, with immediate response from the car.

My training and experience as an athlete — from age eight to 18 — had taught me that one has to start running at the same time that the starter gun is fired, not after one hears it, as this will be a split second too late.  

Every split second counts in a 100-metre sprint.  When the starter says “Get set” (after “On your marks”), you start counting to three — that’s the time gap between “get set” and the firing of the gun.  At the count of three, you kick off.  The reason for false starts by athletes is they’ve gone too fast on counting to three, thus pre-empting the gun and getting off the blocks a little too soon.

Being the nerd that I am, I had also observed the timing of traffic lights when changing from one colour to another:  there was a 3-second gap between amber and green.

After my first glance at the young man, I turned my head back to focus on the road ahead, giving him the impression that I wasn’t going to bite, thus throwing him off the scent.

The lights went to amber.  

I started counting to three, and shot off the very moment the lights turned green, leaving the young man behind.  

A few yards on, a quick change to second gear.  

Another stretch of road later, a quick change of gear to third.  

Once I’d changed to fourth gear, I eased the pressure on the accelerator pedal and let the car cruise, as my Datsun wouldn’t be able to sustain much speed at fourth gear.

To add insult to injury, I stuck my hand out of the window, and slowly waved the young man on.

(Singapore, 1973)