Learning to Drive :: Day Zero

I caught the first of three trains from Mansfield Woodhouse just after 2pm and arrived in Blackpool just after 7. It would have been much faster if I’d driven. But of course I can’t drive. Which is why I’m here.

Lessons start tomorrow at 9am, after a full English breakfast at 8. There are ten days of lessons, with the practical test on the afternoon of the tenth day.

Accommodation in the driving school’s own hotel is included in the cost of the course, which for an absolute beginner such as myself, comes to a grand.

So I am in my room, readying myself.

The train journey was remarkable only because of the final stretch, from Manchester to Blackpool South. Once I’d squeezed myself into the packed carriage and politely but slightly guiltily ejected a rather large lady from my seat, which I had cunningly reserved, I found myself facing a middle-aged woman with very bloodshot eyes and a miniature bull terrier in a carry-case on the table between us. The type with the snout that is weirdly elongated, a little like that of a tapir.

Personally, I find it to be a repugnant-looking animal, pretty much on a par with the pug, but I know that some people really go for that kind of thing. The owner of this particular animal, for example. She totally went for it. In a big way.

She had allowed the animal’s head to peek out of its cage, and as well as constantly petting it, and running its admittedly supersoft-seeming ears through her fingers, she also frequently allowed the beast to lap at her own face and mouth with its big floppy wet tongue.

I don’t mind dogs. I prefer cats obviously, because they’re better. But I don’t mind dogs, and I am for the most part looking forward to living with two fine examples of the species when I move house soon. However, I think there is something rather sickening about humans who French-kiss their pets. This woman – who seemed perfectly pleasant in her conversation with fellow passengers – rather sickened me. She looked at her little terrier with what can only be described as desire – her face up close, her lips parted, her pupils massively dilated. Seriously, she was in love – romantic love – with this obnoxious little creature. Either that or she had been smoking marijuana, which might also account for the bloodshot eyes.

Anyway, I’m in Blackpool, and tomorrow morning, I start learning how to drive.

Eep!

 

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