I’ve been placed on a no fun self-imposed ban this week. No quilting, no blogging,nothing interesting to speak of, why? Due to me being lazy and a bit of a tight arse I needed to take my UK theory and driving tests.
Life would have been so easy, I would have exchanged my Australian drivers licence, I even had the envelopes but failed to send it off. ..and then 6 years ago when my Aussie licence was going to expire, there I was waiting at the Vic roads offices for someone else and was too lazy to sort it out. So now here we are, embarrassingly going for my licence again. I’m sure the test was easier when I was 16. I think the rules in Australia were stop, go, go faster, how to do doughnuts in a safe manner.
But fast forward to now and I’ve got 300 rules to remember and other bits like first aid, how to avoid a collision and things that fall under general stuff (how can I help the environment? Walking.) I must have completed 20 mock tests and answered at least 700 practice questions. I’ve got t be ready don’t I?
I arrive at the weird DVSA office, I say weird because all there is in there is a set of lockers, a woman at a desk from the 80s and not enough chairs to sit on. With military precision you are told that you need to put EVERYTHING in the locker, and they must inspect that your mobile phone (that is going in the locker) is switched off. Items locked in, I take the key which is attached to a MASSIVE wooden spoon and lean against the radiator due to lack of plastic seating, and read the sizeable list of rules I’ve been given to read.
After a while I was called over to enter the next room I was asked to empty my pockets in front of them (and everyone waiting) to which I produced a used tissue (acceptable) and Rockettes small mermaid hair clip that made its way into my pocket. I was ordered to put it into the locker, not in my hair but in the locker. This was starting to feel like a TV prison show.
Satisfied that I was clean and I had no answers written on my arms ( others were asked to raise their sleeves and show their hands, on watching this I hastily rubbed out the word “Toil” I had written on my hand the night before to remind me to request some time off work, luckily this went undetected. )I was asked to join another queue to enter the room.
Now before entering this room which was perhaps 4 meters away from my last check point I was asked by another staff member to empty my pockets and show the back pockets which I explained were skinny jeans and there for decoration really and then asked to lift my hair to see behind my ears just to ensure I wasn’t wearing a blue tooth (I wanted to ask for a hair lice inspection but I doubt that would have gone down well). At this point can I say that I visited the Czech Republic when it was still under communist rule and getting through the airport was easier than this ordeal.
Finally ushered into the room to be shown exactly where my ID was supposed to sit (bottom left of table) and my massive wooden spoon (on the headphones hook) I was eventually permitted to start the actual test, sweaty palms and everything .
After all that, Did I pass? I flipping hit that thing out of the park! If I had known what rear view mirror a caravan is supposed to use I would have got 100 per cent.