My name is Emma. I’m 33.5 and I can’t drive.
In fact, the thought of putting my hands on the wheel gives me the willies.
I’ve always had a thing about being left in the car alone with the engine running. I can’t cope with the thought of something happening and not knowing what to do, and that goes for the handbrake too, what the bloody hell do I do if the car starts rolling? I have no clue what to do and I just know I’d end up sitting in the passenger seat panicking whilst the car rolls away and causes damage or even worse, injures someone.
So guess what happened tonight?
We were picking up George and Lyla from their Grandparents, they have a lovely house with a driveway that sits on a hill climb. Paul had gone in the house and left me in the car. Engrossed in my social media catch up I could have sworn I felt the car jerking but put it down to me coughing my guts up. The car was making weird crunching sounds and I couldn’t pinpoint why, just as Paul came, the car started rolling down the driveway.
When I asked what I’d have done had he not been there, it became clear I really have no clue. I don’t even know where the brake pedal is.
It’s not like I’ve not tried to drive. I’ve attempted lessons a few times and just not taken to it, three lessons in the first time around, I quit. I had the most lovely instructor who was so patient with me but I just couldn’t get behind the wheel on the fourth lessons so I quit.
Two years later, Paul brought me some lessons with the AA in the hope that I’d also get to know the area I was going to move to as I drove around. I was doing well confidence wise, throwing myself into two hour lessons and studying my theory book. The problem was the instructor. He was Eastern European (which wasn’t a problem) but he had a heavily set accent and I couldn’t understand him. Instead of giving me a couple of instructions, he would overload me with instructions, rules and directions so I had no idea what I was doing. On a lesson, as he was over loading my head whilst I was driving, a group of young knobheads decided to drive up my arse. They were honking the horn and shouting out the window being so intimidating. My instructor did sweet foxtrot alpha to calm me down and I ended up pulling over, refusing to get back in the car. I walked the rest of the way home vowing that was it. I’d never drive again. So far, I’ve kept that vow.
It’s not that I’ve never WANTED to drive, I just COULDN’T do it.
Fast forward three years and I’ve got this urge to want, need and have to drive. Now I work in car insurance, I feel permanently embarrassed insuring young girls for the first time and being put to shame by admitting I can’t. Not only that, but there are a list of reasons why I should drive…
1) Nev has always wanted us to go on girlie road trips.
2) Paul has to drive me everywhere.
3) There’s always one person on the bus that stinks of chip fat.
4) My brother and sister live in Evesham. My Nan and best friend live close to Stratford-Upon-Avon, my Dad lives in Devon and my other best friend lives in Gloucester. All of which are miles away from Northamptonshire. I want to see them more.
5) I need to man up.
So, next year I am making it my mission to pass my test and get on the road. I figure if it’s written down and out there, I have to get it done. Tonight I’ve looked online for Minis and Beetles as my first car and am feeling determined to do this once and for all.
So, my post Christmas present to myself is a new provisional license.
All I need now is to master how not to look like Deidre Barlow in a photo booth snap for that dreaded photo I.D.
Stay off the road in January. Don’t say you weren’t warned.