Well, I passed my driving test this afternoon. Four months of lessons, lots of practice in our car, and I sailed through. I was a bit nervous, to be honest, and it looked for a while as if it was all going to go horribly wrong - in fact, I sat down this morning to write a post here about how rubbish it all was.

See, I’ve had this test booked for today for two months. That’s how long the waiting list is in London at the moment. I booked the day off work a month or so ago, because that’s how busy we’ve been recently. Lots of notice required. I spent the weekend being alternately a bit jittery and super-calm and confident. As it happens, this morning I was on a confident swing, despite the torrential rain that could have seen me aquaplaning through the three-point turn, when the phone rang. On the other end, a nice Geordie lady from the DSA apologised and then said they’d had to cancel my 2.30 test, because of illness at the test centre. They might, she said, be able to find me another one in the next few weeks.

But. But. But I’ve got today off work, I said, and I can’t just take time off at the drop of a hat. Besides, I’m ready now. I’m all psyched up for it, and I want to get it over with. Could they squeeze me in at all, later? Nothing doing.

I called my instructor, in fits of girly tears, probably induced by pressure and a lack of quality sleep over recent nights. She advised me to call DSA customer services, which I did, and explained the circumstances. The woman on the other end said she’d do her best to find me another test, but she couldn’t guarantee anything. Would Guildford be alright? Or Ruislip?

A despondent hour later, she called back, with news that they’d been able to find me a spot last thing, at Isleworth, my original test centre. Hallelujah.

I killed time by watching CSI, and knitting, and watching the kitten snooze.

To cut a long story short, the man who did the test was a bit grumpy, at having to stay late, and acted like it was my fault - I didn’t point out that he only had to stay late because one of his colleagues had been off sick. I did my drive, and there were good bits, and not so good bits, as might have been expected when someone had been very wound up throughout the day.

When we got to the end of the drive, he was a bit grumpy again, and then said I’d passed, despite a couple of minor faults. He then told me he hated the company that I worked for. Which was nice. He then talked to my nice instructor as if I wasn’t there; she did this, she did that. I resisted the strong temptation to tell him to go jump off a cliff, and kept quiet. I was suddenly very tired.

So that’s that. Years of not bothering to learn, four months of lessons at lunchtime (in the middle of starting a new job) and I passed.

You know, someone asked me the other day why I hadn’t bothered learning up til now, and I had to say, it never really occured to me. When I went to Canada, aged 16, everyone there could already drive, because they learnt in school. When I got back to the UK again, I didn’t live at home - and even if I did, my parents didn’t have a car, just as they didn’t when I was growing up. We lived, let me remind you, in London, a city which used to be known for its efficient, extensive public transport. So there was no point learning when I got home. And then, for years and years, I was an impoverished student, with no money for lessons, let alone a car, insurance, tax…

So that was that. Until last December, when I decided to get it over with. So I did.

I’m very relieved - not so much that I can drive, because I was confident that that was the case, towards the end, and that any failure would have been a stupid slip on my part, rather than total lack of knowledge/ability - but mostly relieved that I will NEVER AGAIN have to sit in front of someone scrutinising my every action.

I LOATHE being under that sort of exam pressure, when someone’s sitting in judgement of you, and any skill you actually have just evaporates under their steely nit-picking glare. I remember feeling the same about Spanish/Quechua orals at university. It makes me always want to tell the person concerned that they can keep their bloody exam, and stuff it up their behind, to boot.

Ahem.

So yes, I’ve passed. This means when we go up to Scotland in a couple of weeks, I can take on a good proportion of the long drive up there. I can’t wait.