Driving - Part 1 The Grumpy Guide To

Cars - why is it that we are obsessed with them?

When we all know that it's virtually impossible

to get anywhere by road when reliant on four wheels.

The whole idea that people are interested in this machine.

This awful, dreadful machine which has ruined our world.

# Here in my car I feel safest of all... #

City centres grind to a halt,

motorways crawl at a snail's pace

and if by some miracle you actually get to where you're going,

you've got to play Russian roulette to find that one parking space

where you can only stay two hours until some jobsworth slaps with you a massive fine.

-They're all

-BLEEP.

I love it when they say, "I've started writing the ticket,

"so I have to carry on",

and in my mind, I'm thinking, "I've started to kick you in the gonads,

"so I've got to carry on".

The frustrations of driving are legion -

avoiding those loony, Lycra-clad louts,

dodging speed cameras and hoping some bloody learner driver

doesn't take a pot shot at you.

HORN BEEPS

Whoa!

It's no wonder that we see red.

Bus drivers - arseholes.

-Mini-cabs.

-Far too fast.

Massive four by fours.

Post Office van drivers.

Blimey!

Hell is other people and hell is other drivers,

so driving is hell.

Do you remember those wonderful, golden days of car travel?

Being driven to the coast with the family all together?

Well, in reality, they weren't bloody wonderful at all.

Or are we all suffering from some kind of collective amnesia?

Those journeys where fraught with tension and vomit

and sweets and arguments

and hell, really.

My dad, his idea of a holiday

was bursting into our room at three o'clock in the morning going,

"Come on, kids, get in the car. We're going away".

By four o'clock in the morning, we'd all be in the car

going to Penzance, Land's End, wherever he fancied, Blackpool.

We'd go on these long, long trips.

"Are we nearly there yet? Are we nearly there yet?" Smack.

They were great fun.

The most fun part was being in the car.

Smack on the hand, smack, then you'd smack your brother.

We would have packed the car the night before,

very meticulously, because there was so much stuff to take.

There was a specific order it had to go in.

We had a diagram of the boot of the car

which showed what had to go where.

We would have packed it up and we'd get up at 4.30,

get in, drive off and stop somewhere for breakfast.

The Happy Eater - that was brilliant.

With the man pointing to his mouth.

They always had a little climbing frame outside for the kids.

That was great! There was a Happy Eater on the way to Brighton.

I remember the Little Chef. Yes, source of many a joke.

One of my first jokes, I think, was Julian Clary saying,

"I just popped into a Little Chef, he didn't seem to mind".

Yeah, nightmarish, really. Yet, they seemed to go on for hours.

I mean, I drove to Devon not just the other day -

it only took two and a half hours,

it felt like we were in the car for about six months back then.

It was ridiculous. But obviously, we weren't.

And I was car sick and it was...

..hell, awful, really not good.

I remember just yawning and then yawning more and then yawning a lot

and Dad saying to me, "Please, stop. Tell me when you're..."

And I'd go... And my dad would go, "What's that?"

WRETCHING

There was not much to do on the journey

and my father was fantastic at making up games.

One of them was Pub Legs.

I don't know if anyone ever played that but it was a great game.

My sister and I would sit in the back seat

and you would count the legs in the pub signs

that went past you, pub names on your side of the road.

So, if you went past the Queens Head - no legs there.

But if you passed The Cricketers - 22 legs, you see.

So, you'd add those up all the way through - great game.

When we were young, you didn't even have a seat belt.

You were just, sort of, chucked in the back

and left to fight with your sister, really.

We had a little I-SPY book -

I-SPY Road Signs and things like that.

So, the 17 hours to Bournemouth in the back of a VW Beetle

just flew by, as you can imagine.

The best thing about driving in those days

was when the mileometer would change to a load of noughts.

So, we'd get in the journey to Bournemouth or something

and it would be 28,723 miles.

My dad would say,

"There's a good chance that we'll hit 29,000 on this trip".

The excitement of all the nines changing to noughts...

I mean, the thought of missing it!

He'd give us a countdown - "We're ten miles away".

We'd think, "We can't miss the nines changing to the noughts,

"it's the most exciting thing."

Eventually, you'd see those nines going around

and they'd all become noughts and you'd go, "Wow, wow.

"The nines have all become noughts.

"Wow".

According to Freud, women lack something us men have,

and we all know what that something is.

It's the ability to understand why we are so fascinated

with all things motorised.

After all, the car is the perfect symbol of masculine power.

Shiny, speedy and sexy.

There's an expression goes,

"A man would rather admit to being crap in bed,

"than being a bad driver".

There is that thing that men will say,

"The size of the car equates to the size of the sexual organ".

Well, I go everywhere by train.

I've got a big car cos I've got a small cock. It's obvious.

It's something they can get close to that won't answer back

and they have complete control over.

It's the perfect girlfriend.

Father - obsessed with cars.

Brother's obsessed with cars.

Everything was cars.

I loved Scaletrix and of course Formula One

and rally driving and everything.

When Magnatraction came in for the Scaletrix,

it revolutionised the whole speed

that you could take a car round the little plastic track.

Action men were forced into cars -

their legs straddled, they couldn't bend -

forced into cars that were obviously too small for them.

I don't have that relationship with cars.

They are just a piece of metal with a big engine, four doors and wheels

and they take you from one place to another.

Whereas I know there are men who have relationships...

I mean, there are men who will have sex with their car.

I've been told that. I haven't seen it on the Internet.

There's a craze for dogging, these days.

That wouldn't really be my kind of thing.

It doesn't involve eating.

But we do have an estate now, so we would actually have room

to fall asleep listening to the radio.

That's about as near as I get to dogging these days.

I can't get involved in all that sexual shenanigans any more.

These days, I need three days' notice, a Labour government and a splint.

And nothing tests the gender divide

like letting the other half behind the wheel...

..while you have to sit there terrified, paralysed

and in need of a change of underwear.

My God!

When it comes to driving, I like me, in my car,

my music, my Midget Gems, my rules. That's the way it's got to be.

I think men, in general, have got a different way of driving than women.

I mean, it's personality, isn't it?

If there's somebody behind me and they're right up against me,

you can bet it's a bloke.

Do you want me to do this or...?

No, Kathleen, men are better drivers.

The issue is that I don't really want to drive cos I like being driven.

But whilst being driven,

I also like it to be understood that I am the better driver.

So, I like it to be, yeah, a general agreement

that if I were to be driving, I would be the better driver,

but I want him to drive.

-Kathleen, use your mirrors!

-I know it's there.

You virtually went into him. I am scared with your driving.

You've got no need to be scared of me driving.

If women were female men, then everything would be fine.

Unfortunately, they're a different species

and therefore, drive like a different species.

If only I could stop the car,

there'd be no problems.

I consider myself a very good driver.

But then, I'm quite patient. I'm quite calm behind the wheel

so I always think that I'm quite a good driver

but then, as soon as I get in the car with my husband,

I become, like...

She drives really close to other cars, you know.

I don't know what it is.

Maybe she likes the haircuts of the drivers in the cars in front.

If we're in the car and the person in front does something,

not ridiculously stupid but fairly stupid,

on a scale of one to ten, maybe a five,

my husband will go, "Oh, stupid cow".

You know, "Poor old dear", or whatever and I always go, "Yes!"

when we drive past and it's actually a bloke.

Oh, this is hard going, Kath. Seriously.

I'll keep you right.

HE LAUGHS

Do I laugh or do I cry?

It's amazing how we can get in the car together

and everything is rosy

and we're literally heading for the divorce courts towards the end of the journey.

Think for yourself, Richard.

Turn left, here.

I don't understand the expression "back-seat driver".

It should be passenger-seat driver.

Well, I don't know why "back-seat"?

I don't know many blokes that drive around

with their wives sat in the back seat.

Yeah, she's the one who does what I call "girl noises".

So, if she's sitting next to me in the car and we go around a bend...

I'm not talking about being near traffic or hitting anything, either,

I'm just talking about a tight bend,

you get that noise. You get that kind of, "Oooh".

Oooh!

"Ooh, ooh!" Or, you know... I often say to her,

"Are your brakes working, as well, love?"

Richard, you're so close to the edge, it's unbelievable. Get over!

"Have I ever crashed a car with you in it, you know? No.

"Have I ever been near crashing? No."

She'll go, "I know I'm a bad passenger".

When you're driving along and you see someone break ahead of you,

you both notice it at the same time.

I will do something about it and at the same time,

she's pressing her imaginary brake and going, "Look!"

And I'm like, "I can see it! I'm right here with you.

"The brake lights are on, he has stopped,

"I have stopped in plenty of time.

"The fact that you yelled isn't helping!"

James! Watch, James!

The only time that our relationship becomes fraught

is when we're on four wheels.

But apart from that, we're all right, really, you know,

cos we don't talk.

I think if we go somewhere as a family, I usually drive,

but that's because my wife falls asleep

as soon as I start the ignition.

It used to annoy me in the early days of our courtship that she wouldn't talk to me.

Now, of course, it's a blessed relief to all of us.

-You're sat there like Jim Jim.

-This is the easiest...

-You're sat there like Jim Jim.

-Are you going to listen?

-I'm listening!

And although we are excellent drivers,

there are lots of people who really shouldn't be allowed on the road.

You know the ones -

those stalling, swerving, non-indicating idiots

who shouldn't be let out of the house,

let alone given control of a potential death trap.

HORN BEEPS

-Whoa! For Christ's sake!

-What's the matter with you?

-What did you do that for?

-That car was up your arse.

On my 17th birthday, my present, gift,

was a driving lesson,

and I passed when I was 22.

So, 200 lessons, passed fifth time.

I was a natural, really.

Coming from Swanley in Kent, if you were a boy and you got to 18

and you hadn't got your driving licence,

people would go, "Are you queer or what?"

I had, like, a really creepy driving instructor.

"Just imagine there is a pot of gold on the edge of your bonnet.

"Why would you spill it? You wouldn't".

I never wanted to learn to drive. I never saw the point of it.

I never lusted after the car,

I never lusted after the so-called freedom that it gives you.

The only reason I took my test, or started to learn,

was because I fancied a girl called Margot when I was 17

and Margot liked the man who had the flashy car.

She didn't want intelligence, she didn't want sporting ability,

she didn't want someone who could play Scrabble - madness!

She wanted someone who had a big car who could take her nice places.

So, for Margot, I started to learn to drive

and I had the first lesson with my father

and ended up turning right into Offenham from Evesham

and ended up in a ditch.

Look out! Cliff!

I don't think I went in a car again for about three years.

Driving instructors keep standing me up.

I had three in a row that either didn't turn up

or turned up over an hour late,

or turned up and gave me a lesson and never returned my calls again.

I started to get so paranoid.

Am I saying, "Hello, I'd like a driving lesson",

or am I going, "Hello, I'd like to marry you"?

-That was a lousy lesson. The worst one you've ever had.

-Good.

The nice ending to the story was that I didn't impress Margot.

I bought a bicycle instead and impressed her best friend,

who actually had a better sense of humour and larger tits.

-Oh, this is a nice, wide road, isn't it?

-Yes, isn't it?

There's an aeroplane. I want to get out!

My first test, it started very badly,

because what I realised was that my instructor that I'd had up to that point had never...

When he picked me up for a lesson,

he would leave the engine running and get out of the car

and go into the passenger seat and I would get into the driver's seat.

So, when it came to my test,

I got into the car with this quite stern lady tester

and I started pressing the pedals and moving the steering wheel

and the engine just wasn't making a noise.

I was terribly nervous and said,

"I'm really sorry, the car isn't working",

and she said, "Well, you do have to turn the key in the ignition".

At that point, I realised that I had never done that.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Stop!

I was so nervous. At the start of the test...

There are all new things you do now that you never used to.

Like, for instance, you show the instructor where you change the oil

and how you test the oil. You know, things like that.

We were outside the car and he goes, "I'm going to check the vehicle is road worthy.

"You get in",

and I got in the passenger door.

There isn't even a thing on the form for that.

He couldn't even mark me down for that cos there's nowhere to go...

..driver appears to be an idiot. That's not on the form.

All of my lessons were pretty awful and I was pretty rubbish at them,

but when I went for the test,

the guy who was testing me, this guy in south London, he was fantastic.

He was quite obviously gay

and he was part of the amateur operatic society down there,

where I was doing my test,

and they were doing Oklahoma! in a couple of weeks.

# Oklahoma

# When the wind comes sweeping down the plain... #

So, the whole test, we went through all the songs in Oklahoma!

cos I'm a big musical fan, you know.

I don't think I looked in the rear-view mirror once.

Didn't do anything like that. I nearly hit the kerb.

There was somebody I saw, I kind of waved at them.

We just went through Oh, What A Beautiful Morning,

Oklahoma! - had a great time. Passed on the spot.

I am pleased to tell you, you've passed.

Can I see your licence again, please?

The one time I drove when I passed my test,

I thought, "I'll give it a go". I drove to Coventry from Evesham.

So, I thought "I'll do this now, without my dad. I'll go on my own".

As I set off, I thought,

"Right, now, is there a way of going to Coventry

"without doing any right turns?"

And I tried to find the way to Coventry

where I only had to do left turns.

My first journey after passing was from London to Lancaster.

I have never been so tense.

I did the whole thing like a 70-year-old woman, like that,

in this tiny little Fiat Panda, like that.

And when I got out, I literally walked like that,

cos I was so stiff.

It was the worst journey of my life!

Old people, bless them, can be very sweet.

I mean, you can learn things from old people

but bugger all about driving.

My nan shouldn't have been allowed to drive,

I don't think, towards the end. Bless her.

-I do think we should have another driving test for the elderly...

-FIRE CRACKLES

Sorry, Nan! Sorry! She just came out...

# When you came in the air went out... #

And when finally, you get the car moving,

you'd better not stop anywhere.

Because if you do, there's always a uniformed bloodsucker

waiting to sink its teeth into your bank account.

I can't suspend the bank. Now, I'm parking.

Why are you giving me a ticket, mate?

That's my colleague's, yeah?

I'm not ready...

-Wanker.

-That's not the case at all.

-They're all

-BLEEP.

I think traffic wardens these days are like gangsters.

The modern Krays, aren't they?

They're all in touch with each other.

They even started wearing cameras because of the abuse.

Yeah, abuse. It's not really abuse, is it?

It's people moaning, people complaining.

I have a lot of problems with the traffic wardens.

You can even see them poised if,

for instance, where you've got to get your ticket from,

if you haven't parked near it, so it's 50 meters away,

they will ticket you in the time it takes to go and get a ticket.

I saw, I swear to God, you couldn't have made it up,

I saw three traffic wardens around a disabled person's car

outside a doctor's surgery,

almost getting off on putting a ticket on it.

It was almost like some sort of dodgy orgy.

SHE GRUNTS

"Have you written the ticket yet?"

-I've got an heavy

-BLEEP

-load to load and unload.

-It's got 20 minutes.

-It's been there two hours.

They're not. That is the whole point.

Do you want to calm down, yeah? Calm down.

Calm down or I won't talk to you.

I love it when they say,

"I've started writing the ticket so I have to carry on"

and in my mind, I'm thinking, "I've started to kick you in the gonads,

"so I've got to carry on".

All this thing where they are supposed to give you three minutes.

Do they fanny give you three minutes.

You come racing out of the door and they... I just...I just...

I hate it so much, this whole thing.

It's just a money-making exercise. It's a tax, it's another tax.

That's all it is.

I'm pretty good at not being caught. In fact, I can count

on one hand the amount of parking tickets I've had.

I am so borderline spectrum behaviour, you know.

I put timers on my iPhone or any other unbranded smart phone and I don't normally get caught out,

but this one time, I did get caught by this Nigerian.

It's such a stereotype, but there do seem to be a lot of Nigerian traffic wardens.

I've no idea why, but he was brilliant and it was totally worth every penny

of the 60 quid, because I was really angry and he was completely serene

and would not be disturbed in any way and I said, "Mate, I'm a moment late!"

And I'm not making this up, these were his exact words, right. I was only a moment late and he went

"What is a moment? A moment could be a minute - or a lifetime."

And I was like, "Whoh" and he said "£60, please."

They are made to be like that, really. I think there probably will

come a day when there will some Nuremburg-type situation and they will be told

that it's no defence that they were only following orders.

# Another one bites the dust And another one, and another one

# Another one bites the dust... #

I've been clamped, I've been clamped. I hate those fricking clampers.

I've never understood the point of clamping.

It's a revenue technique, isn't it? And it's a revenue technique

that is...reminiscent of Parkhurst or something.

I mean, how can you lock up my car?

I will willingly pay your ticket, your fine and everything,

but a £100-odd to have a clamp removed by a privateer?

No, no, they deserve shooting. That's an excuse for gangsterism, isn't it?

Why don't you have the decency to say, "Can you move your motor?"

Our job is to make sure that cars aren't illegally parked.

-You're one arsehole creeping

-BLEEP.

That's not the case, at all, that's not the case at all.

I've been very close to going and getting and fetching or buying a baseball bat and saying,

"Your shins or that clamp - one of them has got to go."

Another happy punter(!)

(Wankers, aren't they?)

I've been put in the pound a couple of times. Sounds great, doesn't it?

Not the dog pound. I've had my car taken away.

Actually, I used to have my car taken away quite a lot.

I used to live in Hampstead and my permit had run out. For some reason,

I just couldn't be bothered to get another permit, so I just used to park it and they would take

it to the pound. I'd get on the tube, pick it up from Kentish Town. £30.

Tonight, Richard wets himself in a small hatchback...

We play conkers with caravans...

And a clash of the titans - Aston versus Ferrari on our track.

The idea of watching Top Gear is a total anathema to me.

It's probably in my top five ideas of torture

would be being told to watch Top Gear for any more than 30 seconds.

I can't bear it, the whole idea of those people who are interested

in this machine, this awful dreadful machine, which has ruined our world.

Ah, yes, Top Gear. Soft porn for the petrolhead.

Teasing and tantalising the viewer with sleek exteriors,

revs per minute, size of your engine and how ruddy fast you can go nought to 60...

I don't care what, someone asked me what my car, you know, what does it do nought to 60 in?

I don't know, half an hour? I don't know, what should it do, you know?

I mean, I can't do nought to 60, because I come out of my house into a 40mph zone,

so it usually takes me until I get to the motorway - about quarter of an hour.

The sound of V8 thunder...

..all fronted by three menopausal fellas, who really should know better.

Engage...and fire!

ENGINE REVS

I don't know what torque is.

They talk about torque. I thought torque was some

kind of paper you used to clean kitchen surfaces with in hotels.

Top Gear represents the type of stuff I really hate.

That terrifying blokey energy, where I never know what to do when I am in a room of men like that.

It's like, "My car is more powerful than yours!"

And they just turn to me and I don't answer and they'd say, "Get him in the van, let's use him like a girl".

-"Top Gear can eat

-BLEEP

-and die."

LAUGHTER

I hate it, actually. I hate Top Gear

because I hate the presenters.

I just hate them.

Its an eco calculator from Renault. You charge it up by doing this...

I can't be too rude, I can't be too graphic, but it's quite

clear what's happening with those guys, isn't it, you know?

I mean, it's kind of... Well, I don't want to go into detail, but we know what they're really doing.

We know what they're really showing each other.

We know what they're comparing.

I don't know what was wrong with solar power, personally.

Some people find this comes more naturally.

The two-litre VTEC engine in this is astonishing.

This car can reach top speeds of...

-You know when you drive some cars, you get a sense that the car is smiling when you are driving.

-What?!

'And the one who looks like he's been taken to BHS by his girlfriend - James May.'

He always looks like a old hippy and his girlfriend said,

"Come on, we've got to give you a makeover, take you to BHS, get you some nice clothes".

Bloody caravans. I love it when Mr Clarkson or Mr Hammond destroy them.

Top Gear have destroyed several caravans, so the root of it is a force for good...clearly.

I absolutely don't give a flying fish about those boys on Top Gear -

nor their opinions, nor the fact that, actually, they don't have

any person who has been in a soap opera on their show.

I tell you what, The Top Gear day out is probably the best days of your life.

Too much wheel spin.

Burning round that track, with an instructor telling you how to go quicker.

And I was point something of a second away from Jay Kay, as well.

We've had one record go last week, we've had another one go this week. 49. You're quicker than me, mate.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

I cant tell you how pleased I am.

Only to be slaughtered a couple of weeks later, the pair of us, by Jodie Kidd.

Supermodel chick.

I begged them to let me back on, but they still haven't.

This sign means through the triangle window.

Yeah, you see that a lot, don't you, that?

Er...

That one, I think, means that a space shuttle is about to take off.

HE LAUGHS

Erm...

Um...

Oh, what can that be?

What's he doing? Lunatic.

I don't know. Royal family ahead. No idea.

This one means,

I'm not 30 any more!

I think I have seen that in Anne Summers.

Three strokes is when you've not had...

LAUGHTER

Take it away.

Drive in the right direction... at all times.