For a very long time I have longed for the ability to go where I want simply because I want to go there. Unfortunately I lack the little pink card which bestows this ability to those who own a vehicle. My husband, being the supportive type, suggested that I bite the bullet and book some lessons. After some careful research on the net, we came across Barry and his driving school. We dutifully telephoned and booked for him for an entire course.
Nervous doesn't cover how I was feeling during that first lesson. I had been out for a few lessons with my husband, who has the patience of the saint by the way, and although I felt confident to an extent, I hadn't gone beyond driving in straight lines, and after the incident with the pheasant, my confidence seemed to have gone off on its holidays.
Barry came to my home and something about his manner put me at ease. We spoke about payment (of course) and the structure of the lessons. A one and a half hour slot was booked out on a Wednesday evening for me and we proceeded to the car.
We drove, I say we, Barry drove, and I sat and tried to hold steady the butterflies that were having a fight within my tummy. We chatted as the town sped past the window and we were soon on a quiet, well to do, housing estate that Barry explained was often frequented by learner drivers. The roads were nice and wide and there wasn't much traffic. Swapping seats, he explained the mechanics of the car and and asked me to find the lion as an exercise in finding the blind spot. There was no lion, but where I had to look to find the blind spot, Barry explained that the people who owned that house used to have stone Lions on their wall. This confused me a little, but once he'd explained it, my sense of humour took over and I just giggled. Again, when I was feeling nervous, he'd found a way to put me at ease.
Those butterflies were really going to town now as the moment I had been dreading approached. I slid the key into the ignition and with Barry's quiet voice calmly giving instruction, I started the car and away we went. We reached the end of the street, turned the corner and then pulled over. I'd done it. I'd driven the car. I felt pleased with myself and Barry praised me.
He did however, take exception to my steering. He produced a 'highly technical, highly expensive teaching aid'. This was actually a Frisbee. He used this to explain how it was important to thread the steering wheel though your hands by moving one hand at once. I found this a bit like attempting to rub my tummy and pat my head at the same time, but Barry assured me that it would come.
We set off and once again Barry quietly gave me instruction. I have to admit that I found this a little patronising at first, but now I was finding this comforting. It was almost like having a Sat Nav there, not only telling me how to drive, but being complimentary when I did something well and comforting when I began to panic.
And so ended the first lesson. I got to know my instructor as we swapped stories about ourselves and I felt that I had taken my first steps on a journey that was going to lead me to that pink card and the freedom I longed for.
