So, as you may be aware as I have banged on about it if not incessantly, then at least twice in recent blogs, I am now hitting the high road, with the wind in my hair and all of the vehicular opportunities opening up to me that a provisional license can bring. And oh, what opportunities. I was a little nervous of this proposition at first, as I have previously thought of myself as having all of the coordination of a drunken bumble bee. However, having taken the challenge on the chin, I am now more than halfway through my driving lessons & it seems my pre driving pessimism was unfounded. After all, as my mate Lou says, 'well if them stupid fecks in Geordie Shore can manage to drive a car, I'm sure that you certainly can', and I am thrilled to announce, it appears I can!
Initially I thought my bête noire was going to be clutch control. I had heard tales of this fiendish skill and I fully admit, at the start I was a bit sloppy, stalling here, there and everywhere. I was, ahem, rather clutching at straws (sorry, couldn't resist), however while I may not have entirely mastered the clutch yet, I am most certainly on my way to conquering it. Rather it appears that something I had previously thought rather benign that now crops up in my nightly mares, looming ominously out through the mists of my nocturnal horrors. That of the roundabout.....
In my endevour to understand more about, and indeed how to handle, these haloes of the highway I have discovered a vast amount of information out there about the roundabout. Did you know, for example, that over half of the roundabouts in the world can be found in France? No? Me either but The Economist tells me so, thus it must be true. Personally, I had always envisaged the roundabout as a particularly British phenomenon, which is why I was startled to learn that the very first roundabout, nay 'gyratory flow system' (to give it its proper title) hails from the US. Specifically Columbus Circle in NYC (built in 1903), which is even more surprising when you consider the devil may care attitude you often see displayed by most New Yorkers when it comes to road safety. It seems the UK jumped straight on that circular bandwagon with our first roundabout constructed in 1906, in Letchworth of all places, whose only other claim to fame seems to be a rumour that Lenin may, or may not, have visited in the early 20th century when Bolshevism was banned in Russia. Seems unlikely but you never know...
But roundabouts have always seemed quite British to me, a bit patient, always in awkward places, and often necessitating a great deal of patience, friendliness and queuing. Not for us the adrenaline pumping speed of the autobahn, no siree, we like to queue, and even better cooperate when we get to the front. In fact, the UK Roundabout Appreciation Society (because, of course, there is one) puts it even better than me when they say "Un-like fascist, robotic traffic lights where we are told when to stop and go, the roundabout allows us to show one another our very own English driving decorum... Never is a road system better suited to the English consciousness than one that involves a set of rules and guidelines that harbours a carefully balanced system that relies on etiquette and protocol". Putting to one side that a. there is a UK Roundabout Appreciation Society, and b. they think of traffic lights as fascists, they do make the point well I feel. So when I next approach these liberals of the lane, these democrats of the driving experience shall bear in mind these words of their president, Kevin Beresford Lord of the Rings, and hopefully, eventually, pass my test.
Wish me luck peoples!
As I mentioned in a previous blog, I may have picked up a few addictions in my lifetime, whether it be smoking, or a cheese habit of such a grand scale that I could get committed to a Californian rehab unit, if only I had the money (unfortunately I don't have the money, cos I spent it all on cheese. I don't give a hoot if the bishop is stinking, I want him on a cracker, immediately, chutney non negotiable). But one addiction I may have failed to mention previously, and one I should probably admit to in a 12 step type manner, is that for crap TV. I know, I know, I ought not encourage it, but TV has and always will be my downfall, unless I overdose on stilton that is. Whether it's Strictly (new season starting soon? Hell to the yes please), America's Next Top Model, or sin of sins, Celebrity Big Brother, crappy telly is like an itch I can't scratch, and I don't mind admitting to it.
However, there has been one common theme to something that has started sneaking onto my TV schedule of late.... That of weddings. Whether it's Four Weddings, Gypsy Weddings or Don't Tell The Bride, my TV schedule has noticed a distinct upturn in nuptially themed programming. Consequently, there has been an influx of some crazy ass bridezillas invading my living room of late and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it.
Now first of all, let me confess. I have a conflict of interest here as like most women of my age, I have my very own crazy bride story. Having spoken to a few women on this matter, it seems we have all known, been bridesmaid to, or witnessed a bridal brouhaha at some point or other. Mine involved being invited to be a bridesmaid, along with 3 other cohorts, to a former flatmate & university friend of many years. However following allegations of not creating a 'high enough standard' hen do despite several weeks of intense control freakery on her part, a heated discussion regarding the mental effects of a photocopier being temporarily placed in her private office (nothing to break down about, or so I was informed upon making my thoughts known), and other generally wedding themed dramas, I was petulantly despatched of my bridesmaid duties (as was one other who had the temerity to become pregnant 6 months before the wedding) along with my wedding invitation. Let it just be said therefore, I have witnessed the Bridezilla In Action.
But whether it's in my own friendship circle or on my tellybox, there seems to be quite the theme of soon to be brides losing their minds (and often good friends) in a pique of ivory coloured anger. It's a common theme, but why so? Well, I do understand that a wedding can be a stressful occasion, even more so with all pressure heaped upon the 'special day' by an industry seeking to claim a hefty wedge of your hard earned cash via the medium of a tawny owl delivered wedding ring, hand crafted Parisian style baked confection or whatever else they peddle at double the price of normal. And the feminist within me wholeheartedly recognises that the nerves of steel required to deal with said industry, peer pressure, or potential familial discord can often be misconstrued in women in a way men don't have to contend with. Men after all, are leaders or assertive, where women are almost always thought of as bossy or demanding in the same situation. So when women reject the traditional subservient, passive or innocent ideals of The Bride, to stand up for her rights to (if not party), get the flowers of her choice even if they are out of season/ insist upon a bare minimum of a £200 contribution to a honeymoon fund / select hideous dresses for her maids in order to improve her chances of being the most attractive on the day*, unfortunately those women then inevitably cop some flak in a way that men don't. Hence why you never hear of a groomzilla (that and it doesn't seem to roll off the tongue so easy) making it rather a uneven playing field to be trod.
However, even with all that being said, weddings do seem to bring out the loopiest behaviours in a woman that no other event ever does, and don't these programmes show it. Putting to one side the harsh editing, engineered personality clashes and high dramas that come hand in hand with reality TV, such programmes do, mostly, reflect at least a nugget of reality, as I know only too well. As for whether my friend and I are still on speaking terms, well I am afraid since her bridal meltdown she has never spoken to me again, which is as much a shame for her as it is for me. But on the flip side, I'm one honeymoon contribution better off and with my sanity & dignity still intact, so I think I know who the real winner is. That is, until it's MY turn.....
*delete as appropriate
