I must confess that my driving skills leave somewhat to the imagination: you imagine what it must be like for me to be able to control a car that is. I’ve been asked a few times how I managed to get a driving licence actually and the answer: I wouldn’t stop showing up for tests so they just caved eventually under the pressure of my menacing stare.
It did, in fact, take me until my third test before I actually managed to pass and as the second test went considerably worse than the third I wasn’t exactly hopeful. My fail on the second test was in the manoeuvres section: reversing round a corner. I still have a distinct problem with turning my head and NOT turning the steering wheel at the same time. So my fail was reversing round the corner and mounting the curb. Once…Twice… THREE TIMES! Yes that’s right, I mounted the same curb three times even after pulling forward each time and straightening up, I just ended up right back where I started. On the third test I think they just gave up and realised that was the best I was ever going to give and there I had it: my licence to kill.
Actually if I’m honest I’ve not killed anything yet. That’s not to say I haven’t hit a considerable amount of inanimate objects and squashed lots of plants though. And poor Kitty (yes I named my dear little bumper car) does have quite the collection of scratches and bumps but I would like to reiterate (for the BF’s benefit really) that I have not caused any real (significant or life threatening) damage.
The biggest bump I’ve given Kitty is right on her behind and she received it shortly after I managed to harass the examiners into giving me a licence (swearing never to darken their door again). One morning I drove into work to find that one of my colleagues had managed to get herself into work on the train from London having had a fall that morning and could barely walk, so, very altruistically, I offered to drive her down to minor injuries to have it looked at. I think she may later have considered herself safer with a busted foot than in my car but nevertheless. So there I am, windows down merrily singing along to my stereo in the sunshine and, right there, in front of me is the perfect space. Except, well, really I kind of need to do a reverse park and I haven’t done one of those since my last (third) test and as I mentioned before reverse isn’t one of my strongest points. But I tackle it anyway, with gusto, and find I actually can get myself into a space backwards. Dead Chuffed. BANG! Oh, erm, oops. Bollard. Didn’t see that in my mirrors. The spectators walking past did though and my passenger forgot all about her dodgy foot (until I accidentally stamped on it) while she was laughing at my parking. Ah joy, I love driving.