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Jun. 17th, 2008 03:43 pmToday's driving lesson aged me 20 years.
After a few preliminary circuits of the rugby club car park, I headed out onto the open road for the first time. I went out thinking I ought to do OK apart from reservations about getting my turning just right, but once on the road I seemed to lose touch with what was going on. A car coming the other way as we were about to turn right didn't help, but the whole time, as Peter kept up a barrage of instructions, including signalling which I was learning for the first time, I always seemed to still be on the last instruction but one - or even but two. Peter hinted that my main problem was excessive use of the steering wheel; it was true that I'd been turning it left and right almost constantly, thinking I had to to negotiate the turning road and avoid the parked and oncoming cars.
We pulled over in a street in the nearby quiet neighbourhood we'd been heading for. Peter actually asked whether I wanted to carry on. He said he'd had students whom he'd been forced to tell "You're never going to drive", though some of them had gone on to drive automatics, and he didn't want to be taking my money for months to come only to tell me to give it up in six months' time.
Sticking to his belief that over-steering was my trouble, Peter assumed the driver's seat and drove us round the block, telling me to keep an eye on his minimal steering. From then on, I returned to the wheel, we did mirror observation drill, and I did OK driving round the streets for the rest of the time, although when waiting at a junction I fell victim to my old nemesis, stalling, a few times, then the next time I overcompensated by hitting too much gas and voomed forward. At a few blunders like that, Peter became openly irritable but didn't dwell on them. By the end I'd mastered waiting and moving, and had just about got the hang of turning without brushing the kerb or going wide on to the other side of the road. I knew Peter was using his dual controls at several points, but he said my progress was satisfactory.
At the very end, as we pulled up in my street, Peter told me to ride up partly onto the pavement, with just one side touching the road. I managed it, but rather roughly, drawing a "For goodness' sake! Turn off!" and we ended up at a cock-eye angle. Peter's reaction, including repeatedly saying he was going to go and take a look at "what that had done to the car", left me convinced I'd either pranged someone or hit the brick wall. In the end he said it was just that he'd felt a bump and wondered whether the exhaust pipe or something had fallen out of place. When he finally deigned to inspect the back of the car instead of sitting there talking about what I'd been supposed to do, what I'd actually done and how he needed to take a look, he gave it a clean bill of health. He seemed in an OK mood when he said goodbye, adding "hope Holland make the final" (my next lesson isn't till after the semis), but I was completely drained by then.
Next I headed for Portsmouth to buy a Lilian Harry novel for my mother's birthday. She hadn't got round to telling me what she wanted until Saturday when she phoned from Cyprus, so I'd ordered one then from Amazon Marketplace, but despite the seller's promise of 'Super Fast Delivery' it didn't show up in today's post. Her actual birthday is today, and the parents return tomorrow, necessitating the Portsmouth trip and meaning I'll have to keep the Marketplace one for Christmas when it comes. Looking back, I should have just gone to Portsmouth on Saturday afternoon. Waterstone's, thankfully, had loads of Lilian Harry novels that my mother hasn't read.
Got to go for a cold cola.
After a few preliminary circuits of the rugby club car park, I headed out onto the open road for the first time. I went out thinking I ought to do OK apart from reservations about getting my turning just right, but once on the road I seemed to lose touch with what was going on. A car coming the other way as we were about to turn right didn't help, but the whole time, as Peter kept up a barrage of instructions, including signalling which I was learning for the first time, I always seemed to still be on the last instruction but one - or even but two. Peter hinted that my main problem was excessive use of the steering wheel; it was true that I'd been turning it left and right almost constantly, thinking I had to to negotiate the turning road and avoid the parked and oncoming cars.
We pulled over in a street in the nearby quiet neighbourhood we'd been heading for. Peter actually asked whether I wanted to carry on. He said he'd had students whom he'd been forced to tell "You're never going to drive", though some of them had gone on to drive automatics, and he didn't want to be taking my money for months to come only to tell me to give it up in six months' time.
Sticking to his belief that over-steering was my trouble, Peter assumed the driver's seat and drove us round the block, telling me to keep an eye on his minimal steering. From then on, I returned to the wheel, we did mirror observation drill, and I did OK driving round the streets for the rest of the time, although when waiting at a junction I fell victim to my old nemesis, stalling, a few times, then the next time I overcompensated by hitting too much gas and voomed forward. At a few blunders like that, Peter became openly irritable but didn't dwell on them. By the end I'd mastered waiting and moving, and had just about got the hang of turning without brushing the kerb or going wide on to the other side of the road. I knew Peter was using his dual controls at several points, but he said my progress was satisfactory.
At the very end, as we pulled up in my street, Peter told me to ride up partly onto the pavement, with just one side touching the road. I managed it, but rather roughly, drawing a "For goodness' sake! Turn off!" and we ended up at a cock-eye angle. Peter's reaction, including repeatedly saying he was going to go and take a look at "what that had done to the car", left me convinced I'd either pranged someone or hit the brick wall. In the end he said it was just that he'd felt a bump and wondered whether the exhaust pipe or something had fallen out of place. When he finally deigned to inspect the back of the car instead of sitting there talking about what I'd been supposed to do, what I'd actually done and how he needed to take a look, he gave it a clean bill of health. He seemed in an OK mood when he said goodbye, adding "hope Holland make the final" (my next lesson isn't till after the semis), but I was completely drained by then.
Next I headed for Portsmouth to buy a Lilian Harry novel for my mother's birthday. She hadn't got round to telling me what she wanted until Saturday when she phoned from Cyprus, so I'd ordered one then from Amazon Marketplace, but despite the seller's promise of 'Super Fast Delivery' it didn't show up in today's post. Her actual birthday is today, and the parents return tomorrow, necessitating the Portsmouth trip and meaning I'll have to keep the Marketplace one for Christmas when it comes. Looking back, I should have just gone to Portsmouth on Saturday afternoon. Waterstone's, thankfully, had loads of Lilian Harry novels that my mother hasn't read.
Got to go for a cold cola.
