It’s 8.30 on a crisp October morning, and the low sun is streaming through the lounge window. Other than the twenty-one-year-old version of myself, my parent’s house is empty – I have just graduated from university, but just before taking my first step into independent London life I bottled it and moved back to Stevenage, where I could prolong my sheltered ignorance a little while longer.

Those of you who have been in this situation will have immediately noticed the abnormality of this scene; namely the fact that I am up before noon.

The reason my young self is leaning nervously on the windowsill, peering bleary-eyed into the empty street, is that I am about to have my first driving lesson. And not just any old driving lesson.

I have just booked myself on an ‘Intensive Driving Course’ – a crash course, if you will (wacka wacka) comprising ten 5-hour days of driving with a test on the last day.

Naturally, as I finished my soggy fruit ‘n’ fibre I found myself imagining what my instructor would look like. Perhaps an avuncular retired gent with a velvety voice who would calmly coax brilliance out of me, or a diminutive pen-pusher with milk-bottle glasses and yoda-like gravitas, or an attractive female naturist.

While I am imagining this last scenario, a small blue Peugeot glides up to the curb outside. Evidently, this tiny little thing is to be my chariot for the next two weeks. I automatically hop to the front door, pulling on my coat and grabbing my keys.

I turn round from locking the front door, and all my fantasies are instantly dashed. An almost entirely spherical man is prising himself with difficulty out of the Peugeot. He is approximately 50 years old, with lank grey hair and skin like uncooked sausage. He has obviously dressed for comfort, and as he strides towards me -  wearing tracksuit bottoms flecked with the memories of 1000 garage sandwiches – he introduces himself as Ernie.

He seems pleasant enough, and after introducing me to the cockpit and the general sensation of driving, we are pootling along the deserted streets. As we drive, I gradually discover more about my sensei – namely that Ernie is and ex-taxi driver and ex-wrestler, and that his retirement plans are entirely reliant upon the success of a pyramid scheme involving the sale of magnetic bracelets.

To cut a long story short, Ernie turned out to be a very good teacher, and I grew in confidence daily. His manner, however, left a little to be desired. Firstly, whenever another road-user cut me up, or drove too aggressively, he would lurch across me and parp the horn vigorously at them, then lean out of his window and curse loudly at them.

Oh yes, Ernie was a potty-mouth.

I like to think that I am relatively hard to shock, and am no stranger to the delights of toilet humour. I wept tears of laughter into Roger’s Profanisaurus just like most people in my year. Ernie, however, was in a league of his own.

Not only did he consistently and deliberately substitute the phrase ‘Another Road User’ with ‘Some C*nt’ (as in “Be careful when turning left at a T-junction, in case ‘Another Road User’ is overtaking from the left”), whenever we passed any member of the opposite sex he would say “Cor, fack me, wouldn’t you just like to [insert stomach-churning description of sexual scenario] her?”, regardless of the hideousness of his subject.

During my ten days with Ernie, it was not uncommon for such charming conversation starters as “Have you ever done it with a black bird?” to greet me in the morning (I assume he meant a black woman, not an actual blackbird).

It seems like I’m exaggerating for comedic effect, but I assure you this is all true. It was as though Eric Bristow’s fatter uncle were possessed by the spirit of Derek and Clive, and I was stuck in the car with him.

All day.

For 10 days.

Eventually, I passed my test (second time), and immediately started schlepping around the country to gig. As I became accustomed to cruising along the motorway, I gradually achieved what I can only describe as a higher state.

All the drivers of the cars that surrounded me began to reveal their inmost secrets. I could tell by the merest lane change or brake tap what kind of a person was behind the wheel – and from my throne, dear reader, I judged them.

Now, after years of driving – during which time I have only once driven my own car unprovoked into a hedge – I have come to the conclusion that not only am I the best driver in the world, but also that every other road user is either an imbecile to be avoided or a cocky turd who needs to be taught a lesson. Perhaps you, also, are called to motoring greatness… There are a few key signs that mark out one who is ‘set apart’.

1. Given the option, a Chosen One will always choose to drive, regardless of any current illness or injury.
2. While suffering the ignominy of travelling in the passenger seat, anything less than perfect control on the part of the driver will be met with a sharp intake of breath and a gripping of the nearside door handle.
3. Chosen Ones consider themselves to be more in control than all the drivers around them, despite the fact that they have a map open on their lap, a coffee in their left hand and a sandwich in their right hand.
4. If someone changes lanes without indicating, a Chosen One will immediately be able to recognise this person as a reprobate, and unworthy of the privileged life that has enabled them to afford a BMW. A Chosen One will invariably go on to make the correct assumption that they are also a murderer/corrupt businessman/nazi war criminal.

Join me, won’t you? I have also developed an important set of guidelines for ‘road etiquette’, which I feel will be invaluable for those of you wishing to develop your inner car-messiah. It reflects my sincere wish to make all other drivers as reliable and educational as me, and I call it

AUTHORITATIVE EDU-DRIVING.

This involves the use of edu-driving to demonstrate how an accident might have occurred, had you not been such an EXCELLENT DRIVER. If the other driver has an open mind, they will be:

• Humbled by their mistake and overwhelmed by the fragility of human existence for the rest of the week.
• Grateful that it was YOU, the edu-driver, that happened to be on the receiving end of their poor driving, so that catastrophy was averted and valuable lessons learned.

Examples of good edu-driving are:

1.     You are driving along a main road, and another car pulls onto the road in front of you. They are far ahead, but have not judged your speed and their acceleration well enough, causing you to slow down slightly while they speed up. Do NOT slow down in advance to allow them a large enough gap. THAT IS NOT EDU-DRIVING. Maintain the same speed until the very last minute, so that you only slow down when you are right behind them.

Every semi-aware driver understands this action to mean:

“You have incorrectly judged my speed. We nearly crashed because of this but we didn’t BECAUSE FORTUNATELY I AM AN EDU-DRIVER. In future you will wait for bigger gaps or buy a more powerful car OR BOTH. You’re welcome.”

Once it is clear that the driver has been educated, back away to a safe stopping distance.

2.    Roundabouts. If another car pulls out in front of you, or demonstrates poor lane discipline, proceed as in example 1, getting as close to them as possible and sounding your horn for between 3 and 40 seconds.

3.    On a busy motorway, when you see in your mirrors that someone is about to undertake you, pull closer to the car in front so that there is only a tantalisingly small gap for him to fit into should he continue to undertake you. This action clearly tells the other driver:

“If you’re reckless enough to undertake people, then you must be crazy enough to pull into this tiny gap. Come on, put your money where your mouth is, you DRUG-DEALING HAIRDRESSER.”

In the case of example 3, i find it extremely effective to stare silently ahead,  giving the impression that you are unaware of the other driver’s presence, and suggesting that it is Fate – and not merely an edu-driver – that has apparently slammed the Piano Lid of Justice onto the talentless fingers of the Kate Nash of Insolence.

In most cases, however, I feel it is important that one hammers the lesson home as much as possible. When the opportunity arises to edu-drive, it is my personal modus operandi to dress in nothing but a top hat, wind down all the windows (The Ride of the Valkeries blaring from my vast exterior speakers), raise my eyes heavenwards and scream “NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” whilst pelting the other car with half-eaten baked goods through the open window.

I’m sure that many of the Chosen Ones amongst you have experienced driving scenarios that have necessitated AUTHORITATIVE EDU-DRIVING, so please feel free to add them below.

Other drivers MUST be educated.

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