112. TGA (6/6)

I am bored and depressed. Home. Lockdown 2. Work. Winter. 

I am sitting there on the couch staring into the fire and trying to thing of something to write in my blog. No inspiration. All that comes out is dull, sad and grey. Write. Delete. Write. Delete. Close the computer.

Outside though the sky is so blue. 

'I need to go out and get some fresh air.' I say to my husband. 

'Fancy a driving lesson?' He replies.

'Sounds good!'

'Great. Let's go.'

We get going right away. I put on my red down coat and my walking boots with the red laces, grab my red phone. Red means stop yet for me right now it is green for go go go.

Ten minutes later the engine is roaring and my husband is behind the wheel, our dog in the back happy as Larry. It is strange to sit in the vehicle that I had in the rear mirror for so many miles only a few days ago. 

It is rather minimal in here. No radio. No climate control system. No GPS. No bluetooth connection. No cigarette lighter. No USB port. NOTHING! Only the bare necessities to get the vehicle going. And it goes. There seems to be a basic glove box in which I start rummaging. My husband pulls out a flexible cable and then flicks a big black old-fashioned switch (clank) and a light comes on at the end of the rod.

'A map-reading light.' My husband announces proudly as he twists the thing to show me that it can adjust.

Map-reading hey, what a concept. I am sure I can find some maps somewhere in our house. In fact in motorway services I saw racks and racks of maps and I couldn't think why they were selling them. Now I know. There must be plenty of crazy people like us around. That's reassuring. For us.

We drive to a country lane and find a dirt track between forest and fields and stop the car. We walk the dog for a while. And then it is my turn to drive.

This vehicle has adventure written all over it but it definitely does not spell 'easy to drive'. My husband assures me it has power steering. I am overjoyed.

'It makes it really easy to turn the wheel.' He explains patiently.

I should hope so. If I have to drive from this dirt track to the supermarket where we intend to get the essentials as allowed by our lockdown (beer, Prosecco, biscuits) it is going to attract some form of police attention. I suddenly feel like my daughter and I hope I am going to fare a little better and not run over a lone farmer. My husband seems to take to the role of driving instructor like a duck to water. 

I am looking for the key hole. I bend down and peer under the steering wheel. Nothing! Though it is definitely not the kind of car that you can start from a phone ...

'The keyhole is on the left.' My husband says as he watches me. 'Turn it but do not start the engine.'

I do as I am told. My husband sounds stressed when he says:

'STOP!'

Stop what? I haven't moved yet. I am still puzzled by the key being on the wrong side of the wheel. 

'Stop. Wait. See this light here. Make sure you wait till it goes out. This is really important. It's the heater plugs.'

Again I say nothing. I wait for the funny squiggle to go off and I turn the key. ROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRR! It echoes across the fields, a few birds take off. 

'Don't rev it up so much! ... OK ... Seatbelt. (Unbelievable but it has seatbelts, I find it on the proper side.) ... Neutral ... Foot on the break. I look down under the wheel to count the pedals: three. I am used to driving an automatic and for a second I am wondering where the break one is. 

'Don't be silly, the break pedal is the middle one.' He still tells me because he thinks I might get it wrong.

'OK. Hand break off. Foot on break pedal. ... In gear. ... Wait for the biting point (the what??) and let clutch out slowly. Now go!' 

VROOOOOOOM! VROOOOOOOM! VROOOOOOOM!

My husband is giving me directives as if I have never driven in my life! Is he worried I am going to crash? This car is made for crashing ... into rhinoceroses or maybe even elephants.

'Don't be silly.' My husband says again. 

'Cows?'

He doesn't hear me, he is so intensely concentrating on my driving. I am not even down the dirt track that he says:

'Don't ride the clutch! ... Lift your foot off the clutch completely. Slowly when you change down a gear and quickly when you change up a gear.'

I pretend it all makes sense to me. But he is not convinced as he mimics the sounds of the gear changing to show me the difference between changing up or down. I am thinking about my daughter's disastrous driving lessons and I laugh. 

'Lift your foot off the clutch completely! Go faster! Rev it up! It is a big engine. It can take it.'

But I am not listening, I am listening to the engine. And to the clanking metallic noise the clutch is making when I let go. People around drive and walk around unaware of the danger I represent in this vehicle. I see no rhinoceroses on the way. No cows either. My husband is still coaching me.

'Second. ... Third. Don't ride the clutch. Indicator ... '

And I am thinking that I am doing very well indeed and that I am perfectly able to drive this car on my own. On the first sunny and snowy day, soon, I will pack an icebox of Champagne and a tray of foie gras canapés, call a few friends and we will drive to a cliff top. There we will sit in the back of the car, back door open to admire the view while we nibble on the canapés and sip our heavenly bubbles.

Any vegetarian requirements please let me know. 😉