Grockles, emmets or what?

[Devondoggydaycare]

I've been muttering darkly about the grockles who think it's OK to park their Range Rover in a passing place on single track roads just because the sun has come out and they're down for the weekend. Weekend surfers in their VW sports vans are just as bad and need lessons in reversing. Non locals and tourists are grockles or emmets to us, but what do you call them if you live in the Lake District, New Forest or Norfolk?

The brakers we call BOBs. Brakes On Bends.
Caravans are shed draggers - and we joined the fray last year, but at lesser we're already in Cornwall so don't have to contend with the A30 or M5 traffic on a weekend!
Definitely bloody emmetts, no forelock tugging here.

Grockles.

Where I live I have to drive on narrow, twisty country roads with no pavements. At this time of year the 'Enid Blytons' (as I call them) appear in family groups on these lanes, walking or cycling and generally making things even more dangerous.

Local people DO NOT walk or cycle on country roads. We drive on them. This is not the 1950's.

Oh God, yes - the family groups marching down the middle of the fucking road in nice little outfits of shorts and co-ordinated t-shirts with flipflops. With Mama in a Boden dress and sandals. Across the top of the fucking moors, where it can go from warm and sunny to fucking freezing cold and pissing down/sleeting in a heartbeat. And they're still doing it as the sun goes down, as they've misjudged how long it will take a six year old to walk back to the car, so they're pretty much invisible - assuming Dad hasn't decided it'll be a doddle to take everyone for a stroll over to the top of a fucking tor and somebody breaks an ankle in the process.