4 July 2012

Easier in the olden days...

Driving is a lot like having sex. Any fool can go forwards and backwards but it takes hours of practice, tears, tantrums and a patient mentor to get to a standard deemed satisfactory.

So armed with 25 hours tutorage and a stomach full of knots I embarked upon my first driving test.

Fate and I have a somewhat turbulent past. In this day fate decided my examiner would be "Deadly Dean", Newcastles own answer to Gordon Brittas and whom my instructor referred to as "a bit picky" and " not who you want for your first test". Deadly seemed to sniff out my weakest manoeuvre as soon as we settled into the car as we were barely out of the trs centre gates when he requested I kindly pull over and reverse around the corner behind.

I Won't lie, I sort of nailed it, but my frail confidence took a kicking as I had to correct the manoeuvre and received a minor.

The rest of the test should if been plain sailing if wasn't for stupid 30mph roads masquerading as 40mph roads. Who knew that would be an instant fail?

I did.

And so i sit here today, license less and feeling a lesser man. Things could only be worse if I took Viagra as a necessity and not erm...hmmmmm.

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