I appreciate that taking driving lessons isn't inherently interesting, but as I'm spending 1.2% of my week taking them, and spending £40 of hard earned cash every week to kangaroo around the streets of South London in someone else's Ford Fiesta, you've got to forgive me for mentioning them. Well, you don't have to forgive me, but at least broadly tolerate it until the end of November when I'm supposed to take my test. “Don't tell anyone that you're taking your test,” said Muriel the instructor, “because if something does go wrong, it might be embarrassing for you.” Haha. Fat chance. I explained to her that I'm not particularly embarrassed by failure, but didn't go on to explain that I catalogue my failures on the internet for everyone to see on a “blog”, mainly because I was trying to avoid a goddamn juggernaut hurtling towards me.

So, yeah, I'm taking my test in about 8 weeks, so that'll make an amusing blog entry, won't it.

I've been offered a car, free of charge. Given a car. A friend of Jenny's owns something called the Karma Car, which she was given on the understanding that she would give it to someone else when she was done with it. You may think that she's decided that it's time to pass it on because the bonnet is hanging off at a jaunty angle and all the windows are smashed in, but no, it's just passed its MOT. Unfortunately it has the word “Fashion” emblazoned on the side, but that's the incongruous kind of styling I quite enjoy; I might complete the look with a window sticker saying “Baby On Board” and attach some tin cans to bits of string to the bumper. These modifications will probably add about £3,000 to the already substantial cost of insuring the thing, but hey, if I want to Pimp My Ride, I'll Pimp My Ride. If anyone would like a free car in about a year or so, once I've failed my test for the 7th time, just shout. It's yours.

It's not bay parking, or turning in the road, or negotiating width restrictions that bothers me, it's using the car horn. Can't stand car horns. Love cream horns, can't stand car horns. A subtle distinction, but an important one. Whenever we approach a sharp bend, Muriel says “So, now would be an excellent time to Sound Your Horn.” On a nearby pavement, I see a group of 3 sullen Peckham youths, sauntering along with considerable attitude. Sounding my car horn at this second – regardless of any oncoming danger from vehicles speeding around the corner – will communicate to these youths: “You bunch of f*cks, look at me, I'm in a car, yeah, with a middle aged woman, you're not, what you gonna f*cking do about it?” I wouldn't say that to them in person, why should I say it with my car? Of course, their reaction would be “Nuff mile on my sock, blood, we is blatantly too reckless for dis pavement, let's, er, hijack that man's driving lesson.”

The car horn has very few, if any, grades of communication. Despite the oft-repeated cliche that sounding the horn to other road users merely means “I am here”, it actually comes across as “Oi! W*nker! F*ck Off!” You don't have the ability to issue a gentle, friendly reminder to another driver that they are asleep and drifting out of the fast lane towards you, even if you wanted to. I suggest that car manufacturers equip future models with a range of car horns. If, on a journal like this one, I want to argue with someone but want the exchange to remain basically cordial, I can use one of those horrendous emoticons, i.e. or . Drivers should have the same opportunity. A friendly warning could be something cheery, like “Stop!” by Erasure. Female drivers, coming around a mountain, could play, let me think now, oh yes, “She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain”. God knows which tune could communicate to the Peckham yout' that I'm not remotely intending to diss them. “Look, guys, I'm just doing what Muriel is telling me. Really I am. PAAAAARP. Sorry.”