Sunday, September 30, 2018


I am flowing over with moral indignation, shame, fury ....
This is an AWFUL day in my life!

Today I got into my little car, for the first time since Easter. I have been wintering in warmer places.

I am not an accomplished driver, but, at 72.7, I am an extremely careful one. My memory (except for 1870s vocalists) is not what it was, so I had to ask Wendy which of the keys on my ring was the one for the car. Turned it on, it went backwards instead of frontwards. Fortunately at 1kph. But the reflexes gradually returned: I mean an automatic car only HAS 'stop', 'go' and bloody backwards. But he seemed to be making a lot of noise. Perhaps Ive got used the shiny Hankymobiles in Yamba, and Wendy's new limo.

Made it safely (oh my god, its kerb parking!) to the eye doc's and got my brilliantly clear new specs ('DON'T wear them except for the computer'), then to the doc doc for a check-up appointment (keep that little girl OUT of my car's way!), to AMI to insure said car ... and whew! Then home. 30kph, 50kph ... yes, as ever, they're re-re-making the Rangiora road system. Safely into the 80kph school area, and then on to the open road to Sefton.
Go faster, Kurt, or they'll start hooting at you. Its 100kph all the way along here. And there are wretched children running an official race on the road. Running? Jogging. With support vehicles ...

Keep your mind on your driving, keep your hands on the wheel, and keep your ** eyes on the road ahead. It's getting easier. Why is someone HOOTING at me. I'm doing EXACTLY 100 kpm. What's that flashing light in my newly re-adjusted wing mirror. ME???!??!????? No one's EVER flashed me ... he can't mean ME. So I carried on. And then, HORROR OF HORRORS! THE SIREN. So I pulled over. Maybe the car's tail was on fire ...

A far-too-handsome officer appeared at my window. Had I been drinking? I? Only of the fountain of relative youth. But has my reputation got even as far as the local POLICE? I've never been breathalysed before (what a stupid word). Needless to say, I was virginal. What had I done wrong? Well, our road, every single year, gets remade. Oh not neatly, wholly and tidily, but in little bits. Sometimes the speed limit changes every kilometre, until the next month when it all changes again. The 'restriction' boards go up ages before any work starts and stay there long after. So people ignore them.

I don't. I am a good little old man, and obey them to the kph. But it appears I missed one. After diligently doing 30 (and pissing everyone off) and the other lot of 50, I thought I was on the freeway .. but no.

Someone had thrown a few meters of 50kph in the middle of the 100 zone.

Well, it was my error. My first day back at the wheel, I was concentrating on the car. I'd even done the kerb park ... well, 50cm from the kerb and BACKWARDS.

Driving license? I can see that he is looking at that awful photo and dreadful signature. Taken two weeks after my stroke. Seven years ago. Ten questions. I don't know whether they were official questions or chummy questions, but my dentures curl up in the face of authority ...

And now I am mortified. I may never drive again (oh, come on, one is allowed a purple patch). But I can tell you if the handsome (and kindly) policeman came round now to breathalyse me, I'd be POSITIVE!!!!

Wendy, open another bottle for me! It seems that I am incapable of anything these days. Except, of course, writing.

No comments: