At this roundabout I give my turning the miss, deliberately. Once in the car I did it thrice prompting my co-passenger to firm up her mind on what she always suspected: I was a directionless nig-nog. Its hugeness doesn’t let me notice the hexagonal shape but allows me to zip, zigzagging through traffic. There are many pedestrian crossings where you wait for animated families, parents dragging skipping children lost on ice lollies. Many continue earnestly into their slightly raised mouthpieces without missing a beat; couples hand-in-hand, springing steadfastly towards what