Licence to Drive

I learned to drive.

This is quite amazing if you account for the fact that I have spent the last twenty years not knowing how to drive at all. Sure, I had some lessons when I was at college, with a man called ‘Fat Stan’, beloved of many learner drivers in Woodley, Berkshire and beyond. But Fat Stan and I did not get along. I would try to make light-hearted jokes which he refused to acknowledge just happened (very uncomfortable) and his instruction technique consisted of getting me to drive him from one fish & chip shop to another so he could feed his face on a constant basis. On one occasion I was tasked with driving Fat Stan to his home, where he disappeared inside for twenty minutes (taking a dump), returning to the car with a piping hot Pot Noodle, which he ate as I was (trying) to learn how to operate a moving vehicle. So that didn’t work out. And after that amount of trauma, I was never compelled to learn for many years – until now.

I had three lessons and passed first time. Eat it, Fat Stan.

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