Writing for a car magazine without a driving licence is like playing with Mega Bloks instead of Lego: there’s still plenty of fun to be had, but you’ll always have this niggling feeling that you’re missing out on the real juicy stuff.
In my defence, it’s not a good time to be a learner. As detailed in this week’s issue of Autocar (8 February; ‘It’s L out there’), various factors mean it’s not just prohibitively expensive to learn, but also nigh-on impossible to find an instructor with availability.
So it is that I find myself learning to drive five – six by the time I’ll have passed – years later than I ever wanted.
In truth, starting now was pretty fiscally irresponsible, but I couldn’t shake the sense that I had to get going. One payday later – and perhaps buoyed by the unconscious spirit of self-improvement that comes with a new year – I was lucky enough to find a local instructor with availability the following weekend.
Join me in this column over the coming months as I review my experience hitting the road, from the very first lesson to (hopefully) passing my tests and finding my first car.
Saturday 4 February 2023: It was supposed to be so easy
“Waiting outside. AA driving instructor”: my phone dings and I race out the door, trying to get a handle on the fact that I’m quaking like I’ve been possessed by a 1980s breakdancer stuck on planet rock.
Before we depart, my instructor first checks my licence and notes down my details. He then takes the wheel and drives us five minutes away to a quiet neighbourhood I’d been around hundreds of times growing up.
He tests my vision against a blue Citroën C3 parked down the road and then I take the driver’s seat, running through 20-30 minutes of the basics: which pedal is which; adjusting the seat and mirrors; the correct procedure before moving off.
Before I know what to do with myself, I’ve indicated and am moving at a whopping 15mph, the Ford Focus’s engine grumbling for second gear. Clutch in, second gear, clutch out. It all seems so simple, but now the car had taken to popping and locking too – “too fast,” my instructor remarks on my treatment of the pedals.
The next half hour is nothing short of disastrous, in my mind: not slowing early enough for a T-junction, then coming to a screeching halt; not applying enough steering lock; taking my hand off the wheel to flick the indicator… The list goes on.
We come to (an abrupt) stop at the side of the road to dissect the experience and so I can collect myself. “Stop thinking,” I’m told. “I’ll be your brain, so just listen to my instructions and focus on the road.”