Crash Course in Driving
Where’s that ‘crash’ section of Tricolore when you need it? Last week I attended a Speed Awareness course ( I am all too aware of the fact that if there were ever a comment that warranted bad jokes about drugs / female drivers / tardiness / lack of punctuality then that comment may well be it. Control yourselves…!)
I attended this sort of speed awareness class because I was caught doing 47mph in a 40 mph zone. Yes, my name is Katy and I am a ‘speeder’. It wasn’t the first time I had been zapped on this particular stretch of road that comes off the motorway and goes downhill, thus giving you the false sensation of I’m-not-sure what, but it means you go Weeeeeee…..! All the way down until you see that little flash go off and you go Weeeee’ve done it again! Noooo….!
This time, I could really do without getting three points on my license and so, I trotted (very slowly, gripping the steering wheel of my Vauxhall Corsa with two hands) to the class that was from 1-5pm and held in a conference room with orange curtains and a carpet that makes your hair go static, in one of those soulless, Marriot-type hotels off the A41.
We were told to report to reception when we arrived.
“You’re here for the Speed Awareness Course I take it?” said the man on before I had even made it to the desk
“Oh God” I said. “Do I look the type?”
I briefly ran through in my head what a typical ‘speeder’ might look like: wire-thin / covered in tattoos / piercings / hair whipped by the wind into some sort of mohican arrangement? If so, I didn’t really fit the bill. I was a woman in her thirties wearing a rather nun-like blue, sundress. Maybe I just looked guilty.
I was shown up some stairs, where fellow speeders were gathered outside the conference room helping themselves to coffee from the coffee machine. We could have been gathered there for a gambling anon meeting, everyone looked so ashamed. I tried to make myself a cappuccino but the coffee maker was one of those ones deliberately invented to fox you out of getting any drink, ever. I put the sachet in wrong, there was a bit of a palaver with the frothy milk so the Speed Awareness instructor Steve (naturally, he was a Steve) had to help me; I imagined he was thinking ‘oh here we are, already. Troublemaker. Can’t follow rules. CHAOTIC.
Video: My Thoughts On My Intensive Driving Course! And Did I Pass Or Fail?!
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