Driving in the Fast Lane, Part II
It would be another fifteen years before I was even tempted to learn to drive again. In fact I was rather forced into the situation courtesy of a job I had with an insurance brokerage in London. They had employed me as the sales manager for one of their specialized divisions and my job would be to travel to other agents and businesses around the country. On my first day at this new place of employment, I was handed a set of car keys and advised my car was in the underground car park. The look on the face of my then boss was priceless when I handed back the keys explaining that I did not drive. He could not see how I could do the job for which I had been employed without a car and wanted to know why I had not mentioned this to him during the interview process. That was simple; he had never asked the question! Although I was very successfully during my time with this particular company the boss had a deep mistrust of me from that moment forward.
At least I was spurred into action and took an intensive one week course with a test at the end of the week — which I failed. I was granted another test a couple of weeks later and knew that all of my previous failings had been primarily as a result of nerves. I therefore decided that whilst waiting for my instructor to take me to the test centre a small brandy would perhaps help steady the nerves. Another, somewhat larger, brandy followed, then another and then one for the road — literally! By the time the instructor arrived my nerves were the only part of me that was steady.
I took the test and passed with flying colours. I recall only one mistake in an otherwise near perfect display of driving which occurred when the examiner asked me to take the next turning left. I was relaxed and enjoying myself, unlike on the previous occasions, and coasted by the next turning on the left without even the slightest movement of the steering wheel. The examiner pointed out my mistake by saying “Please then take the next turning on your left then.” Again his request had fallen of deaf ears and this turning was missed with the same lack of care that the earlier one had been. Instead of getting uptight at my error I became even more relaxed, now believing that I was doomed to almost certain failure, therefore nothing about the test really mattered anymore. Then examiner, in his frustration at being ignored reclined into the passenger seat with an air of resignation whilst saying “Okay Mr. Meacher please take any turning on the left that you fancy and let’s see where we end up, if this, of course, is all right with you.”
The test came to an end and the examiner only bothered asking me two Highway Code questions — normally a sure sign that the student has failed. I was therefore rather taken aback when he handed me the slip of paper telling me I had passed and even more delighted knowing that whilst I may have passed the driving test I would have failed a breathalyzer test most gloriously. I drove several thousands of miles a week over the next year, but I loathed every minute of it. When I left the sales managers job and returned the car that was the last time I sat in the driver’s seat of a car — now some twenty years ago.
Coming to Thailand and seeing the way they drive here has done nothing to encourage me to get back behind the wheel. My reluctance is further enhanced by being a foreigner and aware that any accident I may ever be involved in will be my fault regardless of the circumstances and could even see me imprisoned. I am therefore more than happy to leave the driving to Mrs. Boss, although this is now going to give me more than a few problems over the weeks ahead.
We are endeavouring to book a regular taxi collection from home to the hotel, via James’s school, every morning and a return from hotel to home in the evenings. Given the experiences I have had in Thailand to date I am not overly confident that these arrangements will pass off without a hitch or, more likely, several hitches occurring on an all too regular basis.
I therefore ask you to bear with me over the next few weeks. If everything I write is full of ranting and raving, cursing at everyone who crosses my path or threats to go and live in a cave then please understand the reasons why. I hope that when Mrs. Boss returns to the fray she will be suitably relaxed and in an agreeable frame of mind to me taking a short trip away on my own. We will see.
As a conclusion to this particular message I wish to address those readers who have commented upon this blog’s lack of pictures. In the first place this is not intended for those who have yet to graduate beyond year one at school and thus still require pictures or drawings to understand the story. Secondly, and likely more pertinently, many of my tales are related to mishaps that have recently befallen me. It is rather difficult when in the midst of a trying or dangerous situation to simply freeze the action, run and get my camera, ask the protagonists to smile and take a picture to accompany the story.
However, to try and keep those of you who need pictures happy, the previous installment of this story comes with a shot of Mrs. Boss on the eve of her hospital visit and yours truly with my sons. As you can see Mrs. Boss is showing signs of some nervous tension in anticipation of her impending surgery and Sam is hardly full of glee at his need to return to school. James, on the other hand, remains blissfully unaware of what it is going to be like with only Dad looking after him for the next few weeks.
