You can feel it in the air when something’s going to happen. It’s like the wind suddenly dies, the birds fall silent, the scraps of litter that swirl in breezy eddies flop to the pavement.

Everyone stops talking.

It was a classic face-off. Those who were walking to school on foot looked up, paused, and looked again, slowing to an eventual halt. Far away, a church-bell rang and was suddenly silenced (not really, but it should have done).

Two cars. One I’d seen before in the street, was a regular at dropping off. The other was a newcomer, not seen him around these parts before. That’s the thing. It’s not long before a hotshot new gunslinger decides to make a name for himself.

Yeah, they say to themselves. You think you’re the big man, driving into that narrow street every day to drop off your kids. But your time has been and gone. You need to step aside.

There’s a new school-run guy in town.

The situation was this: the street’s too narrow for the school run at the best of times. When you get the residents’ cars parked along one side, and those who’ve braved the school run early to get a place along the other, there’s a narrow channel along the middle.

Car number one was leaving the street when suddenly the newcomer turned in. There wasn’t room for them to pass. Someone was going to have to back down.

Nobody did. The drivers’ eyes narrowed. I hummed the theme tune to The Good, The Bad And The Ugly under my breath. Behind each car, more vehicles were queuing up. Someone was going to have to reverse but now no-one could.

The local mechanic began to measure up each car for the inevitable body repairs... or a one way trip to Boot Hill car-breakers.

Tumbleweed rolled past as we all pressed ourselves against the school gates, not wanting to get hit by a stray nasty look, or swearword, or piece of flying glass from a wing mirror.

The newcomer decided to make a move. He inched forward, past a parked car. I knew what he was thinking. Have I got a couple of inches? Well, in all the excitement I sort of couldn’t really estimate myself. But he had to ask himself the question: do you feel lucky, punk?

He didn’t. He stopped. Windows were lowered. Words were exchanged. And still nobody was moving.

The old hand, the young gun. Who knew how this was going to end?

Then, the old hand gave way. Began to reverse. Everyone behind started to reverse too. The old hand backed behind a parked car, only a foot, but it was enough for the newcomer to get through.

Everyone started to breathe again.

The school-run gunslingers. I’d seen ’em come, I’d seen ’em go. They never learned, in Wild West Yorkshire. Smugly, I began to walk home.