It was like the pub quiz from hell with no prospect of a pinot grigio. The Speed Awareness Course.
We've all done one to dodge the penalty points. OK, perhaps not all
. I accept there are some
law-abiding citizens out there who make a habit of sticking to every ruddy rule in the book, but most of my friends have signed up at some point or another.
I was driving home from an early shift and had taken my eye off the speedometer for a nanosecond. Then flash - clocked doing 34mph in a 30mph limit. A month later, I found myself in a windowless sports hall on the outskirts of Skipton with a collection of other reprobates.
Our punishment/re-education was served with powdered coffee in cups made from the same stuff as the ceiling, at a cost of £85 all-in. Tables were laid out to encourage law breakers to mingle and we got special name tags so the teachers could tell us off with more authority.
It was a good-cop-bad-cop carry on. But unfortunately, the first man up to the podium had a dreadfully distracting physical feature. I'd better not say exactly what it was,* but in the circumstances, he coped remarkably well with the flipchart. His sidekick was harmless enough, apart from her patronising head tilt every two minutes to check it all made sense.
Well, the bits I caught
were clear enough, but I've always struggled in a we-talk-you-listen scenario. If I'm not on-board I'm bored and find myself meandering into minutiae mode. Wonder if she knows she's got a VPL? Is that an intentionally messy bun or couldn't she be arsed this morning? Ooh, wedding ring – straight or modern lesbian marriage?