Cars and bikes are for boys, surely. They involve getting dirty and fixing mechanical things, therefore, they are for boys. I’ve had one attempt at learning to drive and am about to start another in the New Year. Let me say right now that I have ever, ever, wanted to drive. I still don’t. While my peers were boring each other with tales of three point turns and parallel parking at the age of 17, I was locked in my bedroom like any self respecting art school wannabe, listening to the Smiths and lamenting the fact that nobody understood me.
The thing is, I just don’t think I’m going to be very good at it. I am by nature a bit slapdash, I can’t help it. This surely is not a good quality in a driver, given that you’re supposed to make a vehicle go in a straight line without getting distracted by a nice handbag in the shop you just passed and ending up on the pavement, perched on top of a pram full of triplets or something. So I’m not going to be the keenest of learner drivers come January, but now I’m no longer a city girl I simply have no choice, the end. And surely people far more stupid than me are driving around without smashing their cars up the second they pass their test, leaving them maimed for life, horribly disfigured and condemned to a lifetime of, well, sitting in their bedroom listening to The Smiths.
And I have to say, watching the drag racing at Santa Pod this weekend certainly awakened something within me, although I’m not sure what it was and I’m almost certain it isn’t something that makes a safe driver, but man, speed is sexy. Who knew? I’m still not learning how to fix anything though. That’s what boyfriends and the AA are for, surely.