Road Craft
Early in the spring of 1987 my seventeenth birthday loomed large, a time longed for by all teenage chaps while at the same time dreaded by their long suffering parents and families. The reason for their stress was that, all red-blooded 17 year olds during the 1980’s aspired to be the next F1 or WRC rally world champion. The reason for this adoration was not just that these chaps displayed the very highest levels of road craft, combined with fast paced and jet set lifestyles.
No, no!
These drivers, the boring metronome moustachioed British ones naturally excluded, were to a man, also the worlds, top exponents of the dark art of getting there hands up the jumpers of the worlds most sought after and glamorous women. The lucky dogs. These Scandinavian and Latin American lotharios were never out of the papers, always being photographed, stumbling drunkenly out of some Monaco casino while in the clutches of one or a whole gaggle of scantily clad harlots virtually ripping the clothes from there backs as they clambered in to the back of the awaiting limo.
Did I want to learn to drive and be amongst their number as quickly as possible?
Do bears shit in the woods?
You better believe I did!
Only two people stood between me and the life of a lecherous champagne quaffing Cote d’Azur speed merchant.
Unfortunately for me these two people were to prove to be quite a barrier in gaining my pass in to four-wheeled freedom.
Firstly there was my Great Uncle, usually a top chap, however being a retired R.A.F. Royal Corps Of Transport, Warrant Officer; he did have a rather totalitarian approach to actual driving instruction, which needless to say had a detrimental effect on his usual sense of humour. This was perhaps because in this role he was ultimately responsible for squaddies having to pass actual tests qualifying them to drive some of the largest and therefore most dangerous machines the military had to offer.
As however this was his car I was driving, I thought it best to kowtow and toe the line as the car I was in was perhaps with the exclusion of the Swoopster’s fathers car, the coolest and fastest thing around town for the era. Namely a shiny black, Peugeot, 205, 1.9 G.T.I. Fanny magnet.
Not perhaps the white Ferrari Testarossa Crocket from Miami Vice (The coolest T.V. show of all time) used to snap the knicker elastic of drug dealing slatterns in Miami, but perhaps potent enough to coax, under the influence of alcohol, some of the local talent out of their certainly more substantial padlocked undergarments.
“Keep both hands on the F ing steering wheel and stop arseing about!” was the mantra he repeated in his sternest tone on almost a constant basis during my first actual venture on to the public highway. All things taken in to account I had not done half bad for a first effort: I had negotiated the town without colliding with anyone or anything and had reversed in to a parking space. The final frontier was breeched and I joined the world of men, when on the town’s ring road under his tutelage, finally having left the town, he recovered from his sense of humour bypass and I got up to 85mph.
Andreti and co. “Eat my dust!” I thought as I hoofed it along the outside lane showing once again scant regard for the traffic laws of plod.
Speeding along the motorway while being egged on by a willing accomplice is one thing, however, this brings me to my second and final obstacle to obtaining a full driving licence. That obstacle being one Mr. Leonardo Vicente, the town’s resident driving instructor, professional lisper and general mad man.
If Leonardo was one thing, it was pedantic. You had better know your Highway Code word perfect, or be prepared to be soaked in a hail of never ending stinking garlic rich saliva, as he ranted at you from the passenger seat of his duel control, 1.0 litre, Mini Metro, on the merits of being fluent in the language of average stopping distances.
Herein lay my basic problem, on the one hand I had the shiny, black, fanny magnet when being instructed by my Great Uncle when he was in fearsome driving instructor mode, on the other I had a 1.0 litre, cats piss yellow, Noddy car when under the professional instruction of the mad as a hatter, Italian long distance spitting champion.
Following what felt like months of being told to “Keep both my F ing hands on the steering wheel!” By my Great Uncle and being covered weekly from head to foot in flem by Leonardo it was time for me to fully grasp the nettle and finally take my driving test.
“You can borrow my car tonight! If by some miracle you pass!” Were my Great Uncles parting words of advice as I headed for the test centre that grey June morning.
I wish now that I had some pithy, witty tale of the aforementioned test, but alas I do not, aside from nearly emergency stopping the driving examiner through the windscreen, it all, for once, went without a snag.
Top marks for driving; however piss poor grade “F” and a chipped tooth for the driving examiner chappy for seatbelt wearing.
That evening, true to his word, my Great Uncle, with visible trepidation and no little arm-twisting handed over the car keys. Albeit with a very stern lecture on road safety. Followed for good measure by the frankest description of penalties, which would be coming my way, should I be caught or seen and I quote him directly “Acting the wanker!”
Assurances with promises as to my conduct were issued, L-plates were removed and I drove very slowly out of the road end pulling up out of sight just round the corner, where the necessary boy racer modifications were quickly made to the car. Namely seat back moved from the vertical to the near horizontal, stereo up, windows down and the very stylish Ray Ban Wayfarer 2’s were placed in “On” mode.
Never mind “Acting the wanker!” I most definitely in retrospect looked like one.
Wheels were spun, rubber was burnt and for added effect Scandinavians were most definitely flicked at every cornering opportunity. Alas, despite my best efforts, girls although undoubtedly impressed, were less than forthcoming in the pants off and legs akimbo department. A couple of hours later, the lure of the pub for a celebration piss up proved to much and to my relations great relief the car, unscathed, was handed back, albeit less a substantial amount of tyre rubber and around half a tank of motion lotion.
From then on whenever I felt the need to “Act the wanker!” My Great Uncle’s car, was, for the most part at my disposal. All well and good until Jack Frost returned in early November, whereupon I learnt, that hot hatches, black ice and dry stone walls do not good bed fellows make. A broken nose, three fractured ribs and a concussion for my troubles. Unfortunately the car was toast but thankfully well insured and despite my uncle’s threats in the heat of the moment, he did not thankfully in the end carry out his promise to “Wring your bloody neck!”
Public transport it was then until the happy day in early February 1988 when I had the wear with all to purchase my own hot hatch. Well I say hot hatch, alas black 1.9 G.T.I. unfortunately was not within the price thresholds of neither purchase or crucially insurance. I leafed through the papers every Saturday morning for a couple of weeks, finally there it was in the small adds for a local garage: Vauxhall, Nova, 1.2 litre, two previous lady owners and the colour which of course is crucial, boy racer red.
That’s the ticket!
I called the garage and arranged to go round and view the jalopy that afternoon.
You would have thought that I would have requested the help of a trusted and senior family member to assist in the viewing and purchase of ones first car wouldn’t you?
Did I take along my Great Uncle who knows more about cars than anyone I know?
No! My chum and likeminded half-wit Oss was to be co pilot.
On arrival at the garage the smarmy and condescending salesman “Wayne” met us. How best can I describe Wayne? Around 50 he was dressed in a camel coloured ill-fitting suit, a washed out pink shirt accompanied with a brown and pink diagonal stripe tie. Which incidentally was pulled tight over his enormous stomach and tucked firmly in to the top of his, groaning under the strain tea stained trousers.
“It’s a lovely motor! Two lady owners, full service history, ideal for a young lads first car! I’ll get the keys from the office and we can take it out for a test drive!” He chortled wiping the remnants of a jam doughnut from the front of his jacket.
Out of the forecourt, I took a left turn and the garage being on the edge of town we were soon out of the town and heading down a country lane. Just then it began to absolutely hose it down like stair rods with rain.
Did I adjust my speed due to adverse weather conditions and poor visibility as instructed by Leonardo a few months prior?
In a word “No!”
I did what any self-respecting teenager would do. That being I dropped a gear and floored it, giving it the beans as we hurtled suicidaly down the lane as the trees a blur out of the side windows.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Shouted Wayne in blind panic from the passengers seat as a sharp, reverse camber left hand corner loomed in to view through the monsoon. To late, old Wayne here was not the co driver I had hoped for. I jumped on to the brakes as we slid sideways round the corner, clipped the verge and came to a screeching halt facing the way from which we had just come. I looked in the rear view mirror. They’re sitting in the middle of the backseat, arms outstretched gripping the passenger handles at either side of the car, grin on his face like a cat that had just got the cream, my chum Oss pissing himself laughing.
Wayne on the other hand was far from amused, but I suspect glad he was wearing his brown trousers as he used the F word far more than was necessary all the way back to the garage.
Back safely ensconced in his office he got on the telephone to find out about the likely costs for me to insure my red sporty nemesis.
When asked the question of “Comprehensive or Third Party insurance?” By the lady on the other end of the line at the brokers silver-tongued Wayne let himself down once again in the customer care stakes.
“Comprehensive or Third Party! Comprehensive or Third Party! It’s got to be fully comprehensive this guy drives like a fucking maniac!” He bellowed down the phone so as everyone within a half mile radius could hear.
Fortunately for me, my uncle put the mockers on the deal after looking aghast under the bonnet prior to purchase, following which I drove a very nice, metallic sky blue, Renault 9 that he picked out for me.
Top, top chap!
Author notes
All true despite it may not show me in the best light.
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Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 26 of 26
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Um... very interesting. I don't usually like this type of story but it was still very well written. Well done.
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I had a nice giggle out of this. It was well written, thank you for joining my contest. Good luck ^.^
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..Option?!?!
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hahaha, this is bloody great. Your humor is exactly the kind of stuff I love, that dry wit oozing in your words. How this has not won a trophy is beyond me, I guess humor is rarely as critically acclaimed as depressive stuff.
- Do bears shit in the woods?
- Alas, despite my best efforts, girls although undoubtedly impressed, were less than forthcoming in the pants off and legs akimbo department.
- To late, old Wayne here was not the co driver I had hoped for
hahahaha is all I can say. There were so many amazing lines, I would have to copy paste your entire story. Wunderbar!
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Funny and Impressed. Good Luck in the competition.
beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 4, dialog: 4, characters: 4.
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Good job, and thank you for entering the contest.
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Great job and original i love it. Being half English i get the humor of it all. Well done Mate keep it up and me posted please
~Princess~
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Good.
Your narrative was refreshing, original, and generally a good point from which the audience could hear the story.
My basic gripes were with grammatical structure. I myself am used to your distinctly English narrative, but a lot of your sentences dragged on a little too long and awkwardly. I love your word choice, though. Good story.
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well written...
as per usual, well crafted, mechanics in order, a bit much of the Brit for full understanding for an American reader, but enough to easily follow.
Seemed a little hurried or rushed at the end and I did note two things, "wear with all" should be 'where with all' and suicidaly, is mis spelled, rare for things of yours I have read.
An amusing and all too common story of the rite of passage for a young man and very readable.
You do have a nice and unique style in writing that I have not quite figured out yet.
regards...
amicus...
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awesome
great work i like the story alots especially the very end i am enjoying this your language jargon chest is vast like your word choice heaps and heaps
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HEH! This really brings back the memories. When I was 16 I was so confident that I'd pass my driving test that I had to take it twice. The first time I didn't even make it out of the parking lot. Apparently they fail you when you back into another car. Who knew?
Then, once I did get my license, my dad would never let me drive his car. I ended up having to get my own right off. This turned out to be a full sized 1973 Dodge truck complete with a monstrous gas guzzling engine and something like 50 pounds of rust dragging off the fenders. That old truck was lime green with a red and white bed. Talk about your babe magnets but that damn truck would get up and go.
As always this was great story.
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Cool tale
This goes to show how even the most obscure and seemingly meaningless plot can shine thanks to good writing. Excellent description and choice of words. Overall a pretty darn engrossing read. Top, top chap!
beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 4.
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Good
This was really well written The descriptions were vivid but despite being well written, it seemed like the subject wasn't anything special. It seemed it was just about someone who drove fast. Maybe if I liked cars or racing, I'd find this to be more entertaining. Like I said before, it was well written, just not interesting to me.
beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 2, ending: 3, dialog: 5, characters: 4.
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interesting...
thanks you for entering in my contest! -
Good stuff - keep the funnies coming!
GoNE
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This was really good. You have an excellent vocabulary. Good job and thank you for entering into the contest.
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This is a good insight into the mind of a 17 year old boy, the characterisation was well executed and gave me the feeling that I knew him rather quickly. You do hve a lovely vocabulary I must admit, and it makes your descriptions all the more vivid. the characters introduced other than the narrator were also nicely put across and realistic in their portrayal.
Very nice.beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 5, dialog: 3, characters: 5.
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This is a fantastic piece of writing and for once in long career or critiquing I can't really find anything to critique except the fact that at times some sentences were to long and needed trimming as well as punctuation and grammar but they were fairly small things so other then that it was a fantastically written story full of humor.
You have fabulous language skills and it shows in this spectacular piece of writing. I love your choice of words such as:
"metronome moustachioed"
"lotharios"
"lecherous"
"pedantic"
"pithy"
I almost forgot how beautiful English is from critiquing so many amateurish pieces but you really give it back it's desired zest and spiced up what might have been a fairly boring tale.
"Not perhaps the white Ferrari Testarossa Crocket from Miami Vice used to snap the knicker elastic of drug dealing slatterns in Miami, but perhaps potent enough to coax, under the influence of alcohol, some of the local talent out of their certainly more substantial padlocked undergarments."
I loved that paragraph, it was so... truthful in the sense of what men and young men are really thinking about, though we aren't in need of a telepath at many a time are we?
As I not really a humoress person (call me sarcasm and irony) I did find this entertaining, amazingly it even made me laugh.
Great job, I'm impressed. -
Talk about need for Speed^^
Though I'm not really into cars so I didn't catch all the car lingo and what not.
This story keeps reminding me of Spongebob for some reason. In fact I can only imagine you as Spongebob. No offense^^
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fabsssssssssssssssssssss
its wordless
dont even change a word though some sentences are better if chopped 
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Most entertaining
You do have a way with words - an uncanny ability to create humorous images out of normally disasterous circumstances. I liked the story. You need to limit your sentences, and be more careful with punctuation. Grammar and punctuation problems make this fine anecdote a bit hard to read at times. You also have a lot of run-on and fragmented sentences, which also make the piece seem clumsy. I l;ike the pace of the story however. It moves briskly, and kept my attention right to the end.
It was, in the end, a very entertaining story. You've got some real tales to tell it seems. If you take more care with your style (punctuaition and grammar) I think your writing style to be quite amusing and unique. Thanks for the brisk jaunt down memory lane (I too have a few stories concering my first few cars).
beginning: 4, language: 2, plot: 5, ending: 3, dialog: 4, characters: 4.
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Top, Top Indeed!
I believe the Yanks can catch on to your terms
(We're not that slow) Don't change a thing! This was a truly, very interesting story, I loved your perspective and the way it was presented to the reader.
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My brother's first car was a Nova. Fond memories. Okay, well, there were a few mistakes: Royal Core isnt that supposed to be Corps? You did other things like they're instead of there, and mixed words up like "glad was he". It was an entertaining story, but my advice is to make it as simple as possible.
And Jim is right, there are a few Yanks here, one of them being me! I'm guessing that "wanker" is some sort of equivalent to thug.
Good story, but keep it simpler.
~M -
Fantastic!
You do assume most people reading this are way too intelligent, knowing things like "jumpers," "wanker" and "the beans" as
a matter of course. Unfortunately a lot of readers will be Yanks. Sorry, British terms just seem to be beyond some (real a lot here) people. Would have said "rain" first then said how hard. That salesman could have been from any used car lot in the world; what beautiful work! Don't know, it would be hard to change too many words and not hurt a terrific story. So very funny. Thanks for the laugh! Jim
beginning: 5, language: 4, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 4, characters: 5.
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Good story
I think I would start the story with an action either when you were learning to drive or when you were finally driving on your own and then work the story backwards. Otherwise good imagery and dialog.
beginning: 3, language: 3, plot: 3, ending: 4, dialog: 4, characters: 5.
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Lol doesn't matter how this shows you, this was awesome. Sounds a little like my brother didnt take him long to crash his car, one two three and all four times. The last proving the final straw.
Went to juvy after hospital.
Nice use of words and imagery here, puts a good view of the scene in your mind. You have a sure way of words and a very interesting life so it sounds.
I hope you are a much safer driver now that you have the manic side out. I this year go for my license and shall keep this in sheer mind.
(I doubt I need anymore reasons to be a safe driver...look at my brother)
Good jobby I loved it, had me laughing
Lady Madeline.
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