On the rare
occasions when there are few other cars on the road, I love driving, especially
using a manual. Feeling in control of a
potentially lethal machine and either flooring the accelerator or carefully manoeuvring
round a tight bend is a great experience.
As it is, the reality of driving in south-west London is no fun at
all. In fact I find it downright scary,
particularly when lanes merge or diverge and I have no idea which one I should
be in. The worst is being in fast-moving
heavy traffic and having to move across to the far left lane. Over the years, particularly as Peter is
happy behind the wheel, I’ve increasingly left it entirely to him – to the
point where some of my friends don’t realise I can actually drive.
We have an
automatic, which helps, but I’m aware that it’s a responsibility I actively
shirk. That’s wimpish and it also means
I’m not as independent as I should be. I
would really like to be in a position where I don’t even think about driving,
whereas at the moment I’ll find almost any excuse not to have to. Motorways, large roundabouts and difficult
weather conditions are especial bugbears.
That’s why driving to Cambridge and back in late December is in my
Facing the Fear section.
Our very
dear friends and former neighbours, Joyce and Bill, moved to Girton about a
year ago and we’ve been to stay with them a few times. On each occasion, of course, I spent the
journey firmly in the passenger seat. We
were going to see them again for a few days between Christmas and New Year,
which offered the ideal opportunity for me to do the drive there and back –
particularly as I had just completed Task 11, learning to use the satnav.
The
morning didn’t start well, as there was thick patchy fog and black ice, and the
UK news was dominated by accounts of a multiple pile-up in Oxford, in which one
woman had died and two others were seriously injured. Feeling very nervous, I
set off rather gingerly and had only done two miles before making my first
mistake. Reaching a mini-roundabout, I
suddenly went blank about who had priority.
There were two cars on the road to the right of me, neither of which had
moved onto the roundabout, so I decided it was my turn. Wrong.
Peter left it a few minutes before commenting mildly that in fact they
had priority. It was sheer nerves that
had caused my mistake, but it wasn’t encouraging.
Things
took a further dip when I realised that the satnav was directing me towards the
dreaded North Circular. Did “go right”
mean move into the right hand lane (of three) or simply bear right, ie stay in
the same lane – or possibly even turn right?
Our old satnav used to say “turn right” when there was just a sharp bend
in the road, and it took a while to realise that this new one was more
accurate. I did get beeped once, when I
moved from the centre to the left lane, having first checked I had enough space
and then indicated with plenty of warning.
Probably I hadn’t allowed as much space as I thought, but I felt it was
a relatively minor infraction and grimly pressed on.
Once we
were clear of London it was relatively straightforward and we arrived in the
pretty village of Buckden bang on time for lunch – crayfish sandwiches and a
much-needed cappuccino. As I’d hoped, I even
had a spare half hour afterwards for some retail therapy in the sales, and
emerged with two tops and a handbag.
Then it was on to Girton, where we arrived at 4pm, as planned, and
joined Joyce and Bill for tea and Christmas cake.
The
following day I did the driving, which was minimal, and then it was time to
prepare for the journey home. By then
the weather was significantly worse and there had been another bad crash in
Oxford. Looking out of our bedroom
window, the fog was really thick and the road covered in ice. We gratefully accepted Joyce’s suggestion of a
leisurely breakfast with them and by the time we set off at 11am, the
conditions were quite a bit better:
The trip was
uneventful and we were home within two and a half hours. I felt tired but elated, and would happily
have set off again in the afternoon:
So, mission
accomplished. Now all I have to do is
keep it up.
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