I actually managed to drive to Nottingham this morning without getting screamed at, honked at , flashed at ( I’m talking lights not lack of clothes, although, to be honest, I’m so freaking tired I doubt I would notice that anyway); no one swore at me; I didn’t accidently cut anyone else up;the kids didn’t need trauma-therapy and I had no use for any valium by the end of the journey. It was like the Waltons in a car … The Smug Waltons …
… and all it took to make it happen was practically leaving in the middle of the bloody night in order to avoid the traffic.
I don’t know if it’s just Nottingham, but I was always taught by my driving instructor, that if you are effectively turning right at a roundabout then you need to be in the right-hand lane. At the very least, the middle. But apparently not here. Here it’s the left lane … of which there are often two. Confused? Yup! Me too! Hence the need to drive stealth. In the dark. I think the root issue here is that I’m simply not rich enough. I was born into the wrong tier of the class system because am obviously nature’s choice for someone destined to have a chauffeur. Bad call natural selection process, bad call!
We still have to make it home this afternoon in the middle of rush hour. I rather suspect we will be back to
So I’ll make my apologies now Nottingham.
If you see a woman with a look of the devil in her eye, switching lanes every 15 seconds, possibly crying, hair like Einstein, using the international hand signal for ‘WTF you arsehole’, with two boys in the back looking like they are trying to pick the locks and escape .. then it’s probably me.
And I’m sorry.
I think I ought to set up a donation button or a crowdfund so I can raise the money for the chauffeur. It’s for the good of the nation.
Anna J xXx
And so the commute continues. The Captain is still irritatingly upbeat and buoyant about his new college venture so it pretty much looks like we are in for the long haul.
I keep telling myself that I will adjust; that the roads will become more familiar, more comfortable and that one day I shall believe my own lies too.
I hate city driving! I hate it!
I’m not in any way a ditherer, but I like to potter. And tootle. City driving neither accomodates nor welcomes individuals like moi. I am, very slowly, beginning to recognise and understand some of the rules and conditions that are obligatory.
- Be angry. It’s the perfect state of mind for city driving and will ensure you reach your destination in the required ‘fraught & on the verge of a heart attack’ presentation.
- Sit in the outside lane on the duel carriageway for as long as you damm well please.
- If you need to get by me, (almost) tap my boot with your front bumper whilst glaring through the front window.
- If you drive a BMW/Mercedes/Aston Martin, there are no rules. You can do what ever the fuck you like (and you do.)
- Ignore all highway regulations about giving way to the right. In fact, feel free to stop in the middle of a main road to allow a car to pull out from the left. Particularly if it’s a friend you’ve spotted.
- When approaching a multi lane junction or roundabout, just pick a lane. Any fucking lane. It doesn’t matter. You will either fall into the ‘I don’t know where the hell I’m going’, ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,’ or ‘I don’t give a shit,’ catergory. All three are equally correct.
- Driving should always be under taken either at 80mph or 5mph. Anything between is not acceptable. A packed lunch is recommended for journeys mostly consisting of the 5mph shuffle.
- Feel free to use phone / eat whilst driving. You will be surprised how well you can multi task with coffee/ sandwich/ packet of crisps / radio/ fags/ phone. However we aren’t super-human so lets be realistic. If you need to let one of your balls drop, make sure it’s your driving, god forbid it be your breakfast.
- When you are visiting somewhere new, don’t listen to the Bitch-Nav. She’s trying to kill you… Or divert you to Narnia.
So that brings today’s driving lesson to a close. I shall be at home licking valium-lollies until it’s time to leave and do it all over again. And then again. And again. For a year!!
Anna F-Bomb J
‘… I’m quite stressed … does it show…?’