Where there's blame

If you know me, you will be aware that I ride a bicycle.  In fact, I ride a bicycle quite a lot.  If you read my bike blog you will be aware that I will ride tens of kilometres at a time and in all conditions.  Indeed, I will, when the mood, conditions, my fitness and the aid of a good descent all work together then I ride quite quickly.  At a guess, adding up my blog rides, a bit of commuting and pootling about I have ridden well over 1000 miles this year.  I am also having a stab at riding a unicycle.  All without incident.  Until yesterday that is.  Let me paint the picture for you:

I drove Tina, my good lady wife, to work in Barnwood with my bicycle in the back of the car.  As is my wont, I cycled to my place of work just a couple of kilometres further up the road leaving the car in Barnwood.  I was scheduled to finish work earlier than Tina so decided that I would perform some necessary errands in Gloucester where, incidentally, I was pleased to see that the Animal travelling cycle display team were in Kings' Square doing there demonstration things using the ramps and quarter pipes bolted to the sides of their vans.  They didn't have any accidents either.  Despite doing some particularly stupid stuff.  Having completed my tasks, I headed back to Barnwood.  That's some 10Km completed today.  Without incident.  After saying hello to Tina I went to ride the 200 metres or so to the back of the building where I would put my bicycle in the back of the car and wait to drive home.  Weather is good.  Visibility excellent.  The road in the car park is dry.  There are no obstacles on the road.  In many ways, perfect conditions.  Except for one thing.  Deciding I was just going round the corner, I hadn't adjusted the straps on my rucksack, causing the right strap to slip down my arm pulling the handlebars sharply to the right, into my thigh and dumping me unceremoniously onto the tarmac.  Possibly my first accident in 20 years and I am travelling at no more than walking pace.  Tina dressed the wound on my leg and off we go to the accident unit.  After waiting an hour or so, in we go to see triage.  I am limping and holding my chest, having bounced off it when I landed.  There is blood oozing out of the dressing on my left leg, clearly visible through the ripped trouser leg.  Sitting down with triage and having been given pain killers, the first question the nurse asks is 'was I wearing a helmet?'.  No I wasn't, and anyway, it's my legs and chest that hurt.  My head is unscathed.

So, after being prodded by a doctor, x-rayed and seeing my daughter, Victoria, who, coincidentally, was in with a friend rather than going shopping with her mum, I am informed I have a clot in my leg, bruising and soft tissue damage on my other leg and a broken rib or two.  Take pain killers and take it easy for a bit.

Fortunately, when I got home and checked my emails I have the usual plethora of emails offering me drugs over the internet from pharmacies in Canada.  I won't be taking them up on that.

Sporting Prowess

It may have escaped your attention, but some time around now, a whole bunch of footballists are having a bit of a kick about in the sun and after four weeks they will decide who is best.  Except if the country you support doesn't win in which case be prepared for such comments as "we was robbed".  Now, I don't really follow football so as a result know absolutely nothing about it.  Except one thing.  Under no circumstances ever should the players of this sport be ever ever allowed to speak in public.   Maybe whisper it to an English speaking interpreter who can elucidate or at the very least speak English.  Allow me to demonstrate from a radio interview I heard on the radio today.  To set the scene, Johnny Sports Saunders, esteemed Radio 2 sports presenter explained that some player had been injured in an incident with one of his team mates during a routine training session, friendly fire if you will.  The ensuing comment by the injury causing player went something like this:

"So I said to him Sorry mate, there was nuffink I coud do about it and he said "It's alright mate, there was nuffink you could do about it".

It's absolute poetry I'm sure you will agree.

This blog, however, isn't here to moan or rant about the world cup, the never ending TV coverage, the pubs being turned over to World Cup venues, those bloody silly flags on people's cars, football results taking the news headlines or a million and one other irritations.  In fact, I have to thank the opening of the World Cup for such a clear drive home today.

Then, of course, at the other end of the spectrum there is the school and grass roots sport.  Remember back to your school days.  If you can.  Were you the 'jock', always chosen first or the bookish one left till last?  Or worse, if the games teacher knew you were always picked last he may elect you as one of the team captains in a kind of inclusive patronising type of way.  Now the dilemma.  Would you pick your equally bookish mates and risk humiliating defeats or the athletic kids and risk alienating yourself from your mates?  I went to a rugby orientated school and wore glasses.  The two don't go together well and my rugby career was put on hold for some ten years until I wore contact lenses and went to play for a team where the pitch was flooded for half the season and frozen solid for the other half.  I never really did get to grips with the rules either.  Many games the referee would be shouting "Number four, your off-side in the ruck" or words to that affect.  It took me about three seasons to sort this out.  The first season was just realising that I was number four and resisting the urge to respond "I am not a prisoner, I am a free man".  Still bookish.  Or at least slightly surreal.
Football was another game altogether.  I was quite a good defender or goal keeper when I was allowed to stay on the pitch but apparently kneecapping isn't in the rules.

Essentially though, I have always been better at solo sports so I don't embarrass team mates.  I was a good cross country runner at school but my real sport has always been cycling, you don't have to rely on a team unless you are proper good and know what you're doing.  Which I'm not and I don't.  In fact, some people have commented that I am half good at cycling, so I am now the proud owner of half a bike.  My good lady has bought me a unicycle as a birthday present but it has taken ages to get it delivered.  Therefore, this weekend, I shall be mostly making a tit of myself and causing injury.

Teaching to cycle or drive

I ride a bicycle.  In fact, I ride a bicycle quite a lot.  If you have read my other blog you will be aware that I ride my bicycle sometimes for long distances and on roads that are quite busy and sometimes have lots of scary traffic on them.  In addition, everybody in our household also rides a bicycle and we rather enjoy it.
Last weekend, we went shopping to Tesco in the car.  Not unremarkable, it happens most weekends.  And, in common with many weekends we got home and said "bugger, just look at all this stuff we forgot to buy".  Totally undeterred, I decided to link the idea of riding my bicycle with collecting the other stuff from Tesco.  My daughter, Victoria (aged 9) came with me on her very funky, recently acquired 1980s proper girls pink Raleigh 'racer'.  Being quite the demon cyclist, it seemed appropriate to give her a little coaching on going round roundabouts so I chose the one that leads on to Tesco at Quedgeley as it isn't terribly busy and the exit before ours is a bit blocked because of the traffic lights holding up the traffic.  We take the proper approved Highway Code route for the learner or nervous cyclist, round the outside, only to be cut up by a woman (yes, really, I'm not just being sexist) going nowhere into the stopped exit.  We took evasive action, there was no drama but I did suggest to the lady that she ought to look where she was going.  She retorted "You should be wearing a helmet".
Now, I do own a helmet.  It is 15 years old and immaculate.  I don't want to do the whole helmet argument here except to say that until that moment, I was firmly with the no to helmet legislation camp.  I have now learnt my lesson.  There I was thinking they were a pretty useless lump of polystyrene but no.  I have learnt the error of my ways.   This woman has taught me a valuable lesson.  They are - Harry Potter eat your heart out- a reverse invisibility cloak.  She couldn't see me without one.
This could have so many ramifications.  Imagine those times when you are stood at the bar for hours waiting to be served, you must be invisible - wear your cycle helmet, the bar staff will now see you no doubt.  Although the bouncers may see you first.

In other news, I am still learning to teach people to drive.  I have now had some 24 hours tuition with my instructor (and now Facebook friend) Dave.  Dave obviously isn't invisible.  He has a whole digital TV channel named after him.  The training is invaluable.  I need forty hours before I am allowed to apply for my trainee instructor licence and start teaching but without this excellent tuition I would be stuffed.  Dave is a good chap and an excellent tutor, we do have a similar sense of humour, possibly borne out of a common geekiness.  The training, make no bones about it, is hard work.   Don't think you could go to a training company, pay your fee and be an instructor, it just won't work.  I think I have forgotten or at least take more for granted about how to drive than I could have known before a couple of weeks ago. 
All this talk of invisibility puts me in mind of one of my instructing faux pas.  I will say "Be aware" or "mind out for" that pedestrian.  To Johnny learner one needs to be far more explicit "Be ready to slow, stop or change direction for the pedestrian in case they walk into the road"
My instructor goes to great lengths to point out that you can be 'aware' of aforementioned pedestrian as they bounce off your bonnet, the roof and land in a heap behind you.  Still, it's their own fault.  They should wear a helmet so we, the motorist, can see them.

Next time you are doing a three point turn or reversing into a parking space, try and pretend you are teaching someone that has never tried it before.  Still, hopefully, watch this space, we should be up and running soon enough so, if you're after some high quality driving instruction it shouldn't be long now.

It's a sign

Might I apologise to all my loyal readers that it has taken me so long to write the latest instalment of my blog.  I have had trouble with my creativeness.  I put this down to writer's block.  My brother suggests constipation.  From which, he may be inferring I am full of sh*t.

You may be aware that between my bicycle and driving, I am quite a regualar road user.   As such I have recently noticed a few signs on my travels that make you think, whether for good or for bad.

First thought is how useful are road signs really?  During my driving instructor lessons, to test my observance of the road, my instructor would, on occasion, ask what the last road sign we passed was.  The number of "dunno" and similar responses suggests that they are largely ignored.  So what would happen if we got rid of them all?  I'm not alone in thinking this.  Much research from such august organisations as the AA (that's Automobile Association not the one my brother ought to know) and RAC has suggested that we are bombarded with them.  Apart from that, it can ruin some of the scenery that we all gaze at while we are driving.  Then of course, there is the simple fact that we haven't really got a clue what they mean.  If they were that simple we wouldn't need the Highway code book of signs and have to be tested on them before being allowed to drive.

However, I want to concentrate on a couple of signs that I rather like.  

If you travel around rural Enland, you will, inevitably, see the sign "Please drive carefully through our village"..  Damn.  there I was planning on driving like a nutter at warp factor 3 and you've ruined my fun.  Now I have to be careful.  Sneaky little thing though.  Doesn't say what to be careful of.  Is it just the kids on their way to school walking in the middle of the road or do you have snipers ready to take out the stranger?  Then, at the end of the village you are met with the sister sign "Thank you for driving carefully".  Aah, how do you know I did?  Maybe I did drive like a nutter and left carnage in my wake.  Or maybe we were just lucky.  You'll never know....

Then there is the No Motor Vehicles sign.  You know the one, a motor bike above a car.   I still wish that sign meant no motorcycle stunts or Evel Knievel banned.

Have you driven through a ford?  I mean, of course water across the road not another car.  On the other side, there is often a sign that says 'Test your brakes'.  Wise counsel.  However, you may want to take a quick glance in your mirrors first.  You don't want to force the driver behind to test his.

I know it isn't a proper Highway Code recognised sign, but I would like to know what the purpose of the "Baby on Board" sign that people stick in the back of their car is.  I can only think of a couple of reasons.  Have you ever been driving behind a car and thought "I know, I'll just ram into the car in front for a laugh" then had your plan scuppered when you saw that they have a baby?  No, nor me.  But you never know.  The other possibility is that the gentleman of the car is desperate to prove that the tackle is all in working order.

Finally, I'm sure you're all thinking "What's going on with Russ learning to be a driving instructor".  Well, a couple of weeks ago, I met my new instructor.  A fine chap by the name of Dave and we had our first lesson. It's surprising just how much you take for granted, right from putting the seat belt on.  This is pretty much how my first mock lesson, how to adjust your seat went.  You'll get an idea of the level of maturity:
After getting Dave to adjust the seat forward and backward, we discuss the rake of the seat, or the angle of the back:
"Put your hand to the right of the seat, there is a large knob you turn to change the angle".
We move on to the adjustment of the head restraint (never, ever refer to it as a head rest):
"Press the knob on the side of the headrest and it goes up and down.  There's a couple of knobs in the car".

It's hard to take things too seriously.  Part two and three are coming up this week.  I'll let you know if we grow up in the meantime.

The perfect balanced meal

I treated myself to masala fish from the not very local any more kebab house tonight.  It used to be our local friendly kebab house but then we moved.  Still went there from time to time though until it burnt down.  Didn't go for ages whilst it was shut (well d'uh) but last Friday decided to go back for the first time in a couple of years. Everyone in our house enjoys a kebab and I am particularly partial to masala fish, if you are not familiar with such a delicacy, I implore you to hunt out Khan's Kebabs in Barton Street, Gloucester, part with four quid and enjoy.  We hadn't had one for ages so imagine my excitement.  Then imagine my massive deflation as we bump into kebab house man (imagine the super hero that DC comics could make out of that one) around the corner with a big bright orange van outside the shop.  What's going on you may ask?  I certainly did.  The buggers are closed again, albeit a little more temporarily this time, because of an electric fault.
So, it turns into a Monday night treat; and so to my theory.

You have a good sized chunk of fish and we're always told to eat more fish, although for the sake of my argument let's ignore the fact that it may be a little deep fried.  It is served in a nan bread so there's your carbohydrates.  Then, you add salad, that has to be at least three of your five-a-day that we are evangelised towards. Add a portion of chips and they're made out of potato and that's another vegetable.

Which reminds me of another take away experience from a couple of years ago.  I was staying for the week at an hotel just by Aldgate East tube station whilst attending a course.  Tina joined me at the weekend and, being the die hard romantic that's when we got engaged.  Anyway, back to the story - you know how I hate to digress.  Always straight to the point, can't be doing with unnecessary waffle.  After all, digressing is only superseded in the time wasting stakes by procrastination.  I have thought about procrastination but it needs longer to consider.
Aldgate East is either a) East end of London or b) Downtown Beirut, you choose.  It is also a stones throw from Brick Lane where I went for a take away at a Bangldeshi place.  I went in to a moderately busy place and ordered something.  Waiting for the order I got chatting.  You know the sort of thing, weather, where you from etc.  The conversation is cut across from the proprietor:
"Hey stranger"
"Mmmm.  Me?"  I whimper.  Has your heart ever sat quite so high in your throat?
"Yea you"
"Mmm"  My lower bowel is proper active now.
"You like Bhaji?"  That's it.  You scare the shit out of me to ask if I like an oniony starter?
I answer in the affirmative.
"You try my Bhajis my friend": he passes a bhaji across the counter.
"You like pakora?"
I'm quite enjoying this now, although with the amount of free samples, dinner does have less room.
Eventually my food is served, I bid a cheery farewell back to the hotel.

With all good intentions a day or two later, I decide on a return journey.  Sadly however, this time the place is swarming with police.  Less good idea tonight.

The results are in...

It's taken me ages to write this blog.  As my regular readers and friends will be aware, I didn't pass my first attempt at the driving instructor part two test.  On the first of March, I retook the test and passed.  Hurrah, cause for celebration and all that.

That's it.  That could be the end of the blog.  When you fail something it becomes a talking point.  What did you fail on?  When are you going to retake?  Most of the answers you could just record and replay.

Then there are the platitudes.  "I'm sure you'll do better next time", "Never mind, the best drivers pass second time", "Well, they've got their allocation they must have passed enough already".  All of course are a complete horses arse and have no basis in truth.  Still, that's the joy of a well aimed platitude, why let the truth get in the way of a good cliché?


But no.  I passed.  No questions, no platitudes, just celebration.  But that's not it.  After the test is over you sit in the car with the examiner who is now your best friend and he still insists on tearing you to shreds.  Although in my case, he probably has a point.  You may remember (or know) that to pass the instructor part two there is a maximum of six minor faults.  failed test, I had seven (d'oh), passed test, wait for it.... SIX.  So he tears me to shreds, or rather, gives me the debrief.


"Lets start with your reverse park"
"Crap wasn't it?"  I know I can reverse park and I can do it well.  However for my test I made a complete hash of it.
"Not how I would put it, but essentially, yes"  That accounts for two points.  It would be difficult to get more points for a single manoeuvre.
"You were too close to the maroon car on the motorway.  You weren't going fast enough on the approach to the roundabout.  You should have overtaken the other car etc, etc, etc"  And so it went on.


"But I've passed?"
"Yes"


It took as long to talk about my relative failings when I passed as it did when I didn't.  If you get what I mean.


Still, as I write today, it could be much worse.  A friend of mine who was scheduled to take it today was turned away.  The instructors were on strike.  That sucks.

If the devil were made incarnate, he would drive a bus.

A while ago I was watching a bloke on telly talking about the evils of driving big cars, especially 4 wheel drives.  The general gist of the article was to persuade us all to travel by public transport or to buy a teeny tiny car powered by 3 AA batteries.

And do you know what?

I think I am a convert.

No, please don't be mistaken.  This chap was completely 100% wrong.  He converted me to the idea that driving and especially driving big cars is a good thing.  I used to feel guilty about driving my 8 seat people carrier with just me in it.  But no more.  I imagine the majority of my readership drive.  I do.  And I drive a big car on occasion.  In fact, from time to time I stick a monster great caravan on the back and pull that as well.  Gross combined weight about 5 tons.  And yes, I do happily hold up other traffic  by not being in a particular hurry.  And it is a good thing.  Why is it such a good thing?  Because I can do it when I want to do it from where I want to leave to where I want to go.  If I had an electric car, even if it would pull the caravan I would have to stop and recharge the battery for about 12 hours every 20 miles or rely on the addition of a petrol engine and I already have one of them.

Alternatively, you could travel by train.  I remember sitting on Gloucester train platform one very early morning when an announcement came over the crackly loudspeaker:

"We are sorry to inform you that the 6:52 to Newcastle has been cancelled"

That's it, end of announcement and a couple of blokes shuffled away.  Of course you're not sorry Mr announcer.  You weren't going to catch that train.  What would you do?  The next train is several hours away and it's a long way.  If you had driven the journey is unlikely to be cancelled.  Add to that the train costs about £250 each.

I don't know about where you live, but on the back of Gloucester buses there is a sign that says "One day Bus travel £2.50.  4 hours car parking £5".  Or something like that.  Now, there are 5 people in my household.  That would be £12.50.  And it will leave not when I want to but at some vague time related or not to the timetable.  I will be guaranteed a grumpy driver and not a seat.  It will be dirty and smelly and stop every 20 yards holding up the traffic behind it.  Chances are it will be a rough ride and desperately uncomfortable.

I shall sign off now.  Grumpfest over and wait for the hate mail from the Green party and associated carrot crunchers.  Politically correct I may not be, but I'm bloody sure I can get where I want to go when I want to go there.