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Tuesday Nov 13, 2007

Learning to drive

This week we introduce a new diarist to TheSite.org. Joe is 20 years-old and is learning to drive, ah the memories. We'll be following his progress on the road until the day he takes his test - of course here at TheSite.org we're hoping he passes first time, even if it will make interesting reading if he fails, tee hee.

I think that learning to drive with your parents helping you is the greatest test of all. In my case there were plenty of tears, tantrums and car door slamming, as I was forced to pull over and hand back the reigns after each close shave. My first few driving experiences with my Dad involved him almost sitting on the handbrake in case I forgot where the brakes were. I was forced to brake for imaginary pedestrians and to turn my head fully into each mirror so he could make sure I was looking properly - never mind that I was a 17 year-old with an image to protect who didn't want to look like I had a serious head twitch. Little did I know that apparently I looked like a prat anyway because I used to sit so far forward with my face just inches away from the windscreen... until I mastered the art of looking slightly more relaxed.

With each week passing, as I took lesson after lesson, I would wash my Fiat Panda with great pride using a leather chemise to buff up the remaining paint and fill in the rust-coloured sections with Tipex. Tempting fate, I would also spend hours creating my driving tapes in preparation for the day I could legally drive on my own, sunroof down, bombing along in the sports cars of all Pandas, the Panda 1000 Super. I think I must have been the only person to have ever posed in a Panda.

My car was called Skippy for two reasons; firstly because for the first six months I was putting in leaded petrol instead of unleaded, resulting in a kind of kangaroo jump as I drove and frequent stalling; and secondly because if it was actually yellow instead of white it could have easily passed for a Skip with its boxy shape and harsh contours. It took me three attempts to finally pass my test once I had mastered my confusion with roundabouts. Skippy was my faithful companion for three years until the day I eventually had to hand her over to its new owner, the car pound, after paying them £20 to take her away. Oh the shame.

Posted by Julia ( 3:45 PM ) Link to this post  |  Comments[0]