Learning to Drive :: Day Four :: Downtime

Today was much better. I corrected my mistakes to a very large degree. I barely killed any imaginary cyclists and I only found the wrong gear maybe three times in three hours. I felt very happy when today’s session was over.

I do believe I am starting to feel confident about my driving ability. And why not? Have you seen some of these people who already drive? I mean, there are some real dolts out there. No disrespect. And if they can do it, well surely there’s nothing to stop me. Nothing.

This afternoon a couple of my fellow learners went home. One had failed his theory and so was not able to take his practical. The other passed his theory but failed his practical today. It’s very sad when anyone fails, of course, but particularly on a course like this where there is a great sense of camaraderie. First there is the instinctive empathetic sadness one feels at the hands of another human being’s suffering. Then there is the rather more selfish fear of following in their footsteps. You find yourself thinking, if he can fail – he who has been driving for ten years – then I can definitely fail. But that’s foolish thinking. The possibility of failure is a given. But why bother thinking about? What can that achieve? If you must think about the future at all, think about passing.

Anyway, let’s forget about driving for the moment and think instead about Blackpool.

Blackpool!

This afternoon I went for a walk all along the prom, from the south to north and back again, taking photos as I went. It was fun!

Fun!

 

Blackpool is an absolute hoot. In a thoroughly contemptible way, of course. Everywhere you look there are flashing coloured bulbs and garish plastic and tacky painted smiles and cheap meaningless baubles and posters for the most appalling lowest-common-denominator ‘entertainment’. The entire three-mile stretch that I walked today is clogged with the most crass consumerism I’ve seen for some time. It’s like Las Vegas crossed with Last of the Summer Wine.

Of course, I’m certain there is more to Blackpool than seaside tat and mini-roundabouts. I’m certain of it. And it’s almost certainly a very different place in late November than it is in, say, May. Whether it’s any better or not, I suspect, and pray, I’ll never know.

And also, worth pointing out, besides all the awful, tawdry, soul-destroying garbage, it is also genuinely beautiful.

Well, bits of it are.

Anon!

 

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