As you will recall from last week (do keep up!), I had left the campervan in the custody of Derek and his oppo John for them to fix the driver’s door window-lift – which they did, without having to buy an expensive new motor. I don’t know how exactly they accomplished this because, when I collected the vehicle at the end of the day, Derek was absent (I later learned – in considerable detail – that he was undergoing medical treatment) and John was too drunk to explain lucidly what he had done. He did, however, recall that the bill was £80 (cash only), then tried to coax a cheeky £10 tip out of me on the basis that he had taken care to use a plastic seat-cover to protect the upholstery. I gave him the £80, asked for a receipt and drove away nervously. The next day I discovered that the door lock had ceased to work. So, presuming (not unreasonably, I thought) that the mechanism had been disturbed by John’s probing inside the door-panel, took it back to the garage, where Derek (it was too early for John to appear) affected to make no such connection and charged me £30 (cash only) to fix it.
I know: a cheap fix is not always the bargain it appears to be. A bit like when you get a parking fine that is reduced if paid promptly, it’s still an expensive fix; and I had yet another such fine this week – on the very day of my Speed Awareness Training course (for which I had paid £80). I had driven to the bakery across town, early, in the hope of stopping briefly in the loading bay before the Enforcement Officers got their act together. But they beat me to it and I emerged from the shop to find two of them stood chatting next to my delinquent van. I had been outmanoeuvred and had no case to argue, so I took it on the chin, along with the accompanying quip, “That was an expensive loaf!” By the time I got home for the course (on Zoom) I was in no mood to be lectured at.
It’s been a very long time since I was in a classroom – virtual or actual – and I am aware that teaching methods have evolved since then. Nevertheless, I felt a twinge of schoolboy reluctance at the prospect of two hours in class. But I was soon put at ease by the ‘teacher’, who was comfortable in her job and experienced at coaxing cooperation out of a dozen assorted adults, some with underlying resentment issues and one, at least, in grumpy mode. She had cleverly developed a light-hearted technique for dealing with the serious subject of death and injury on the roads caused by speeding. She broke the ice by asking us to introduce ourselves individually, made small talk about the weather, then urged us not to use offensive comments or rude language – the classroom equivalent of ‘road rage’. Then, she put us at ease by acknowledging that, although we may have been caught exceeding limits by just a few m.p.h., it was important to realise just how much difference that can make to the outcome of a collision. And if the prospect of reducing accidents by safer driving was insufficient incentive for us to pay attention, she pointed out that completion of her course had the benefit of avoiding points on our licences and consequentially elevated insurance premiums. Even Nigel in Northampton, who almost lost it when he declared the A14 to be the worst road in England and all motorway users to be “idiots”, seemed to calm down once it had all sunk in. It proved to be an enlightening, therapy-tinged educational session.
In fact, if I were offered a similarly efficacious Parking Awareness course, I might be inclined to further my education.
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