Mirror, Signal, Manoeuvre

To commemorate The Girl having her first Driving Lesson today – how OLD does that make me feel? I thought I’d share some driving… erm… ‘experiences’ with you all:

1. I will always remember my first proper lesson (i.e. NOT the one with Dad fuming and huffing and rattling the gear-stick with one hand on the flippin’ steering wheel which really did my confidence NO good whatsoever) and the sense of power and freedom it gave me. I thought I could do ANYTHING if I could drive.

2. My first proper Instructor was an ex-policeman who had such a relaxed attitude about paying attention to my driving (he had dual controls too) that he only realised I was taking a corner a bit too quickly when looked up from his “Caravanning Weekly” magazine – odd what we remember isn’t it? And saw that I’d embedded his car into the side of a MultiParts van at a junction – their jaunty slogan of “Thousands of parts for Millions of cars” trilling ironically in front of us.
(The only UP-side of having this accident was the look on my mother’s face when the Actual Police came round and read me my Rights in the living room. I don’t think she went out for a week after this… neighbours, you see.)

3. Whilst attempting the three-point-turn during my first Test and because it was always tricky getting the gear into Reverse, after I’d done the whole ‘mirror, signal, manoeuvre’ thing, I forgot it was still in Reverse and, believing it to now be in First ready for the OFF, I cheerfully shot backwards at speed and knocked down a sapling tree - on the pavement. I laughed like a nervous Nellie and said to the Examiner “is it worth me carrying on?” to which he replied in the affirmative. I sweated and held back tears for the remaining 25 minutes of the Test.

4. During my second Test, a year later, I failed for TWO reasons. One: I hadn’t let a bus pull out when it was indicating – I didn’t actually realise it is LAW to allow any public transport clear access. I do now. And I let buses pull out all the time. See? I learned.

The second reason was because whilst waiting for the traffic lights to turn green on the High Street, three of my friends walked across the road in front of the car. When they realised it was me inside, they stopped in front and started pointing and talking and waving their Funky Junction shopping bags at me. Forgetting where I was, I revved up the engine menacingly and roared back at them from behind the wheel like I was intent on mowing them down. The examiner was not best pleased. Dangerous he called it. Stupid dumbass Blonde moment I call it.

5. I didn’t take another test for 4 years after these failed attempts, convinced God was telling me I wasn’t meant to take control of a weighty, metal killing machine. I should stick to buses – at least they get to pull out when they want.

6. The day I passed, I could have kissed my Examiner. It was a lovely sunny day, just after lunch (apparently more people pass if the Examiner isn’t raving hungry for food) and he was helpful with my Road Signs test at the end. He didn’t give me the answers, but he was nice and smiley and encouraging. I shall always remember him. Whatever his name was.

Happy.... happy.... Ah yes! I remember that....

"...Sorry! We could not find happy

It may be unavailable or may not exist..."

This is the message I got when I entered 'happy' into the search bar when looking for a sunny, cheering, optimistic image to put up on this post. Worrying, no?
 (And just one of the many and varied entertaining things about Virgin)
Because I'm trying.  No, really I am.   You only have to ask the Girl, who left me in bed this morning nursing painful shoulders, neck and arms - and with a blindingly piercing headache that just won't budge - and she'll tell you how impressed she was that I still had my sense of humour.  That my unfailing way to always see the funny side of things  hadn't left me or got crushed in the (2nd) mangled heap  in the drive to be wrecked at my hands in five months.
And my first thought, as I sat, stunned and shaking in another burny-smelling car which had been shunted across both lanes of the road yesterday morning (thankfully 120 seconds AFTER the school run and not during otherwise this would be an altogether different post) was "That's it.  I'm not leaving the house again and certainly never driving another car as long as I live".  Seriously, it was.  So slightly different to the last time when my first thought was "Shit - I hope that blood isn't from my teeth and how will I get to Sainsburys".
And I remember how it goes - the tune I had to whistle 5 months ago.  It's just that the words are slightly different and the melody's a bit tired.  And there isn't a 16th Birthday Party to organise in 3 days and the days aren't short and dark and I don't have an arm full of burns and a cut and swollen face this time.
Until I look out of the window and see the wrecked car awaiting it's assessment (I know it'll be a write-off again - I knew the last time - call it intuition but I know the insurers aren't going to fork out for a whole half side of a car which is so caved-in the back seats won't sit down - and a buckled wheel. I just know).
I was never particularly 'attached' to the car anyway.  It always reminded me of the crash in November and really it was a rushed replacement for that one when the insurance money came through - a necessity. Not like the one that was chosen so methodically and lovingly from many hours of searching through Which Car? guides and sitting chatting to the lovely Honda people and working out how much we could sensibly afford to pay out each month for it.  That one was a wanted car.  Our honeymoon car.  This one - pah - well, it's just another car.  I didn't even care that the spec was slightly better than the last one.  That it had a reversing beep (which actually frightened me most of the time) that it had a panoramic static sunroof (what's the point in that unless you want your head to roast in the sun without the benefit of having a breeze to accompany it?) that it had cruise control (which neither of us fully understood and so never even flicked the switch to use) and it had a dual heating system so that the passenger could turn their heat up independently of the driver (I did start to think this might come in handy during the impending  Menopause years.  That'll teach me).
But more than this,  I now find I have an almost overwhelmingly deep-rooted fear about getting back behind the wheel again, knowing how I felt last time this happened.  When, invariably, during the early days (esp. when I was in one of the 2 courtesy cars we had) I would arrive at work a trembling wet mess because I'd been such a cautious nelly on the 45 minute drive to work that I'd incensed other drivers into hurling poorly-timed abuse and impatient horn-blowing as I'd either stalled for the fifth time that morning or else just not been confident enough to pull out into busy lanes when they would have done.  My heart picked up speed every time I stepped into the car.
And until only recently I wouldn't volunteer to go anywhere I didn't absolutely HAVE to.  During half term I actually took the Girl on a Prom dress expedition to a quirky local village - even though I still hesitated a lot being on unfamiliar territory, and I HAD to find a parking space that could take a Sherman Tank, I did it.  And I was proud of myself and very, very, relieved to be back home safely in one piece.
So, God only knows how I drove the veering, clanking thing back home yesterday morning with it's wobbly wheel - hitting a top speed of 15 mph - convinced the burning smell was going to suddenly ignite and blow me sky-high.  And I think if I hadn't had a police escort in front and a concerned husband behind me, I'd still be at the side of the road shaking and sobbing my heart out now.
Half of me knows that this is just an unhappy co-incidence.  The lightening striking twice thing.  And I should NOT take it personally and believe that somewhere someone/thing is out to get me and will not rest until they've made a proper job of it.
Whilst the other half is still hoping to become convinced of this.

Eight Things I Don't Like (can I sub-categorise? Well, I'm gonna!)

1. Bad manners. This includes:
a. Drivers who pull out in front of you as if you're driving an invisible car and then slow to enjoy the scenery.
b. Drivers who don't acknowledge thanks when you've stopped to let them past parked cars and/or out of a junction/wherever. How much does a 'thanks' cost again?
c. Drivers who don't care whose lives they endanger by holding a mobile phone to their ears whilst smoking with the other hand. (Begs the question what the F**k are they steering with?!)
d. Drivers who won't let you cross the road when there's nothing coming the other way simply because it's 8.12am and they know you're on a school run and therefore have no brain cells because you're an airhead mother who should be staying at home and baking muffins for her husband whilst home-tutoring the child who will NEVER get to school as long as it sits waiting in the goddam car for someone to let it out!
e. Drivers who park anywhere they like and escape the wrath of the Traffic Wardens (are they still called that or are they now something like prohibitive vehicle engineers?)
f. Drivers who park skewed over two spaces so that you have to drive another mile to find somewhere else.
g. Drivers who slam their doors into yours when they get back into their car simply because they have an old G-reg Skoda and know you live in fear of your husband thinking you simply cannot take the car out without bringing it home minus a bit more paint.
h. Drivers who escape running red lights/speed limits/other illegal traffic offences.
i. Drivers.
j. Oops... see a bit of a pattern emerging here...!