Testing times

14 and 15 September 2015

There would be no more walking before I went back to work, unless you count shopping walks. This wasn’t just because it was a wet, stormy few days, although it was. Monday morning brought something I’d been dreading for a long, long time, something I’d been trying very hard not to think about on my Sunday walk. Not thinking about things is my way of coping with worries and Monday was always going to be a day of fear. You see I had my driving test.

You may be wondering how I’ve made it to the ripe old age of fifty five without ever being legally able to drive a car. It’s a long story. When I was young I rode a motorbike so I never learned to drive a car. Then I had children and there was neither time nor money for lessons. Then, in my early thirties, I developed epilepsy. They were trying times, maybe I’ll tell you about them one day. At one point they thought I had a brain tumour. Epilepsy seemed like a pretty good deal after that but it meant I wasn’t allowed to drive. To be honest, driving was the least of my worries. After all I’d got by without it so far and I like walking.

Long after I’d been fit free long enough to get my provisional licence I held back. Driving seemed like a jinx because I’d been given ten lessons as a birthday present just before I had the first fit. Those lessons never got taken and, in my head, I associated the driving with the fits in some twisted way. If I’m honest the whole thing scared me anyway. I was resigned to never driving and I really didn’t mind at all.

When I was made redundant from Dream Factory I took lessons for a while but I hated it. Before each one I’d feel sick to my stomach, my legs would shake, my heart would pound. Then I got the job at Mad House and there was no time. Besides, my instructor retired. Excuses maybe but I was glad to leave it behind. When the Mad House job ended we were given a grant to retrain and they said I could use it for driving lessons if I wanted. Of course I didn’t want but logically I knew it was the sensible thing to do. There would be more job opportunities if I could drive. It would take the pressure off Commando.

Then there was the holiday to Agadir where Commando was taken ill on the plane. My lack of a driving licence caused no end of problems and I knew I really had to do it whether I wanted to or not. Taking my courage in both hands I rang a driving instructor I’d found on line, one who said she was good with nervous people. She sounded lovely on the phone and didn’t seem phased by such an elderly pupil who was obviously terrified. The pounding heart and shaking legs were back of course, as soon as that first lesson was booked but she was kind and positive. She believed I could do it even when I didn’t. Slowly over the months I gained in confidence and skill, if not real belief. We took things very slowly, just one hour a week. Sometimes I still dreaded it but she calmed me and chatted to me until it felt like an outing with a friend rather than a scary lesson.

So, on Monday morning after a little drive around and a huge pep talk, we were at the test centre. Those shaking legs were working overtime and I was convinced I’d fail. It might have been easier if it wasn’t raining, one more thing to contend with. My hands were shaking on the wheel as I pulled away with the examiner beside me. There were so many fears in my head, where would he take me, what manouvre would he ask me to do, would I get lost when he asked me to follow directions for the independent driving part of the test, would I remember everything? The first roads he directed me to were unfamiliar and I felt out of my depth but they were small quiet roads and I took deep breaths. What was the worst that could happen?

When he asked me to do a turn in the road I tried not so smile too widely. It’s the one manouvre I’m good at and I did it perfectly. The independent driving part of the test took me past the White Swan to Swaythling and then towards St Denys and Cobden Bridge. It couldn’t have been better for me. There were mistakes but they were small ones and I hoped they wouldn’t be enough to fail me. When I realised we were on our way back to the test centre I was surprised, the time had passed so quickly. Even so I was relieved it would soon be over pass or fail.

We parked up and I held my breath while he scratched away filling in forms. In my head I was sure I’d failed even though I knew I’d done my best.
“I’m pleased to say you’ve passed your test,” he said, “with just four minor faults. Well done.”
I burst into tears. My instructor thought I’d failed when she saw me.

Part of me was slightly alarmed to think I would now have to drive on my own at some point. In fact it would have to be sooner rather than later or I’d never do it at all. To cope with my fear I spent Monday evening plotting out a route on Google maps. It wasn’t anything earth shattering, just about five miles and a route I know well but I drove every mile of it virtually using Google street view, thinking of every road sign, junction and roundabout. When I got to my destination I couldn’t help smiling to see my very own driving school car pulling out of the car park, captured at some point by the Google car. Such a coincidence gave me extra confidence.

Armed with my new driving licence, or at least the piece of paper that will serve as one until the real thing arrives in the post, I went out to my car on Tuesday morning. Those legs were shaking again and it took me a while to unlock the blasted thing, my hands were so shaky I couldn’t operate the key fob. For the first time in my life I would be driving a car on my own. For a while I just sat there with the music on softly going over the route I’d planned in my head.

Eventually I turned on the engine and, taking a deep breath, selected first gear and set off. At the top of the hill I almost chickened out and turned back but I told myself not to be so stupid. The examiner thought I was fit to drive, I’d passed my test, I had to do it now or I never would. Into the traffic in the village and on to the big roundabout I went, slowly gaining confidence but never quite comfortable.

When I reached the White Swan I pulled into the empty car park with a huge sigh of relief. The plan was to practice bay parking, my bête noir. How often have I joked that I will be able to drive round and round but I will never be able to park? Now was the time to put it to the test in a car I’d never parked in before, all alone. I almost failed at the first hurdle because I couldn’t get the car into reverse. There was a moment of panic but, in the end, I did it and the first attempt was within the lines. When I got out to check I’d pulled too far back, misjudged the length of the car, but I got back in and pulled forward then turned the engine off and sat for a while.

Of course I stood in the rain and took a photo of my little car in a bay in the wet, empty car park. Then I did it all again, and again, seven times in all, driving round and round parking in different bays. If anyone in the pub was looking out the window they must have thought I was a mad woman. Maybe I am.

If it hadn’t been raining I might have gone for a stroll along the river to calm my nerves but,  after another little sit and think and some deep breaths, I left the pub, driving past a field filled with cows beyond the river I’ve walked along so many times. When I got home someone had parked in my space and I took an inordinate amount of time going backwards and forwards to get the car perfectly placed outside my neighbour’s house. When I got out and looked back it was the most perfectly parked car in the street. So now I’ve passed my test it’s time to really learn how to drive…