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Driving Miss Crazy




  At my first driving lesson back from panto season, I moved off in third gear. 

  I was having the usual back and forth with Shahzad, my instructor - who, to this day, is on Beta Blockers. 

 'We've discussed this, Shahzad: you always miss me checking the blind spot on that side, so we take it as read that I did check it.'  

  Or: 

  'You can say there's nobody in that white Volvo all you like, but I'm telling you it isn't adequately stationary for use in my parallel parking extravaganza.' 
 
 And:

  'Who yet again moved the fucking kerb?'

  When I moved off in third, Shahzad became more than usually adenoidal. 'Where have you got that from?' 
  'My Marine mate, Stacks,' I said. 
  'And what else did this army guy teach you, just so I'm prepared?'
  'Royal Marine. As he's officially a master-driver he knows the tricks of the examiner's trade. He said never to park where they tell you to first time...'

   Stacks advised, 'You'll be able to park okay - adrenaline - but won't be able to safely pull out again. It's a trap.  You'll be too near a turning, other cars, emergency access, etc.  Similarly, when you're asked to pull up when it's safe and convenient to do so, it won't be.'

   As I told the examiner: 'Don't hold your breath about my stopping, love: there's a school crossing, a hill, a staggered junction, a blind corner, hazardous waste, an overfull ford, mobile library stop off, suspected grave of Lord Lucan, rutting stags, Jemima the doll from Playschool - plus I'm scared to stop the car in this part of Barnet.'

  Shahzad asked if my master-driver buddy had said anything about how I'd been taught so far. 
  'He says I'm not as Miss Crazy Driving as he'd thought I would be.  I'm calm and in control and have the basics. He does think you allow me too much shouting and swearing. He's really hoping I'll get my licence, if only to to stop me getting arrested in Iraq.'

   I was entertaining troops in Um Qasr, Iraq, when the Military Police asked for ID.  My fellow turns showed a driver's licence or passport.  My passport was back at the overspill tent hidden beneath my spare tutu, and I didn't have a driver's licence. I tried my Camden Library card on them.
  Stacks raised his eyes to Allah and pointed to me in the tutu on the comedy show poster. 'I can vouch for him being yon tiddle-iddle-thudder in the frock of many doilies.'
  Which still might not convince them, I thought.  So, I applied lipstick.  
  'Wrong shade,' said Stacks. 




  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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