9 August 2006
I had begged, pleaded and grovelled and for a change, it had worked. For my 17th birthday, my gran gave me driving lessons.
Of course, having a birthday at the beginning of autumn and not quite getting organised for a month or two meant that I did the majority of my driving lessons in the dark, in shitty weather conditions. In fact, I think I first attempted reversing round the corner on a big patch of ice.
All through late October, November and December I went out once a week in that silver Vauxhall Corsa and learned to drive. Gradually, I stopped being petrified that I'd kill myself and my instructor, then I graduated to being less petrified of killing other people, and then I actually started enjoying it - except for the night I drove back to my town after having gone to the area near the test centre for a practice and found that while I'd been gone a blizzard had settled in. Ten roundabouts, in the driving snow, on ungritted roads, in a Vauxhall Corsa. I have to at least get some points for being able to do that.
Anyway, 10th January rolled round, and 10th January was Driving Test Day.
I was incredibly nervous, because although I had most of the stuff under control, I still hadn't quite got the hang of reversing around corners or parallel parking, but still, the instructor thought I was fine, so off for the test we went.
When we arrived, the instructor got out of the car, went into the test building, and out came my tester, a Grumpy Old Bloke. Great.
Said Grumpy Old Bloke didn't just look like a Grumpy Old Bloke, he actually was a Grumpy Old Bloke. Of the type that didn't believe woman should be wearing trousers, much less out in public, voting or, god forbid, driving.
Great.
So off we drove, him being grumpy in the passenger seat, me even more nervous than I was to begin with, but all was going well until I got to the three point turn.
I'd been told that when doing a three point turn, if traffic comes towards you, you're to let them pass, holding the clutch at the biting point and keeping the car stationary, then continue the manoeuvre when it was safe to do so.
All fine, not a problem.
Except Grumpy Old Bloke chose a road, typical of the area, to ask me to perform a three point turn on. Originally cobbled, layer upon layer of tarmac had been added on top, mostly in the middle, containing a road with a hump in the middle, and cobbled edges, with cars parked on both sides at irregular intervals.
Still, not a problem, after all, car brakes are good, and it wasn't like I was going to be waiting for long, because any car coming towards me would know to just go right past, cos that's the rules of the road. Right?
Wrong.
Dead wrong.
What actually happened, was that the appointed spot to perform said three point turn was opposite a line of parked cars, with sufficient space to do the last leg and return from whence I came, which wasn't really the problem.
Well, not entirely.
What was the problem was the learner driver who came along, and seeing me about to finish the three point turn, panicked. Possibly because she hadn't read her highway code or her instructor hadn't told her, but anyway, she panicked. She didn't drive past like she was supposed to.
Which would have been fine, had she made the decision to stop where she was and let me out at a point where I could still have got past her and completed the turn.
Only she didn't.
I tried communicating with my eyes that I was on my test and could she get her fucking arse in gear and let me get on with it, but that didn't work.
She panicked and she faffed and she crawled forward and then my leg, which had been holding the clutch at the biting point and the car entirely stationary for the last five minutes went into cramp. My foot slipped off the clutch, the car rolled back, very gently, kissed the curb, and stalled.
At which point Dozy McPanicked finally got her arse in gear and went past... and Grumpy Old Bloke marked two strikes on my form.
He failed me.
For something that wasn't entirely my fault.
Yes, I should perhaps have put the handbrake on, but at that point, I didn't know I could or should. I'd never been in this situation and my instructor hadn't told me about that. I was just following instructions, and as a result, I failed.
I don't remember much of the drive back to the test centre, or, for that matter, the drive (with my instructor at the wheel, I was too angry to speak, never mind drive) into Glasgow afterwards, where I was due to meet my mum for lunch, to celebrate, but I've never got behind the wheel of a car since, unless you count computer or console games... which, given my virtual driving style, is probably best avoided.
That's harsh. I failed my first test when, driving back to the test centre after only two minor faults, a toddler crossing the road in front of me lies down on the bloody tarmac and throws a tantrum! The little sod's father then proceeds to stand in the middle of the road and berate his child while I'm trying to turn right into the road their on.
The car stalls after what left like several days of this and the evil instructor failed me for not restarting the car quickly enough.
I hate children. :-(
'Dozy McPanicked' - that's great!!!
That's rotten luck Ann, but on a more positive note there's the following:
1. You will never drink and drive!
2. If you go somewhere socially, you don't have to 'not drink' because of being the 'designated driver' (more brew for you!)
3. You will never have to sit in traffic on the M25 and wish you were on a train going somewhere instead
4. You will never be 'cut-up' at speed (narrowly, by inches) on the M1 by an arsehole in a BMW
5. You will never discover the horror of 'aquaplaning' for a few hundred yards at 70mph!
6. You won't get ripped-off for car purchase-costs, insurance, petrol, tax, and the general ongoing-list of repairs (also wrongly-named as 'maintenance') for a car...saving you more cash for more brews...(or yarn!)
7. You will never get cramp in your leg from driving over 600 miles in a day
8. You won't have the extra worry of wondering if your car has been stolen just because you've parked in a part of town where cars regularly vanish...(and that it happens to be where you also live!)
;)
...and, you've lived okay without a car so far....so you probably don't need one anyway.
You'd probably only need half a dozen lessons to get up to scratch, you are oldenough now to know you just have to fake the confidence to breeze though it (driving inspectors are a bit like dogs, you need to make sure they can't feel your fear that's all). Not that you need a car where you live but just to be able to say "of course I can drive". Let's face it, if *I* can do it...
hai diva, I was just stopping by and stunned with your lay out. nice blog!
Driving tests are a lottery. Grumpy bastards and bad drivers are the wrong numbers that stop you winning. It's no big deal - I failed twice. You'll ace it next time and wonder what the fuss was about. Plus, to add to the excellent list of car worries you'll avoid in the meantime, you won't be able to do what I regularly do; which is to part the car somewhere, forget where I parked it and spend twenty minutes wandering the streets of London trying find the ruddy thing. Good luck! Matthew
I had fun on my second driving test. I was halfway through a manouvre of reversing around a corner when this woman pulled up right next to me, beeped her horn twice and wound down the window.
Shit, I thought, what do I do here?
So I asked the examiner what I should do, and obviously in typical examiner fashion he replied : whatever you feel is appropriate.
So I put the handbrake on and wound down my window. The woman then shouted how do you get to such-and-such road from here. To which I replied that I didn't have a clue and unfortunately had no more time to help because I was currently taking my driving test.
She zoomed off quickly with an apologetic look.
Anyway, I didn't quite score enough minors to fail (although I got a few) and the examiner told me he was pleased to be able to say he could pass me 'given the circumstances'.
It just goes to show, that like yourself, the one thing you don't want to encounter when taking your driving test is other drivers.
Dad attempted to teach me to drive at 17. I had to attempt a 3pt turn on a narrow country road, ended up mounting the rough grass edging and caught the exhaust on a hidden rock. Dad drove home and had a large brandy but never complained of the cost of the repair.
I've never driven since - just think how many miles of knitting I've claimed through non-driving!
Reversing around corners? Really? Oh my. I never, ever want to drive in England. Ever. Really.
That is terrible that he failed you. However, as others have said, just think of all the knitting time you have gained?
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
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