Like many of you, I am learning to drive. Yeah, I know, 20's a bit old to be starting this since people younger than me have been driving for three years already but y'know, who cares?
The people I'm learning with are the AA. No, not Alcoholics Anonymous, though I feel like I'm in one of those meetings when I go to these things. The guy I have is a guy called Graham - lovely bloke. Talks a bit too much when I'm trying to concentrate but other than that, lovely. He's late to every lesson so he has to add time on to my lessons, luckily it doesn't cost anything else for me. It's £42 for a 2 hour lesson. It's only gone up £1 since my brother was learning to drive and that was something like 5 years ago. I have a lesson once a week - mostly on Saturday mornings at 9am when I'm close to death from sleep depravation. Ah well, could be worse I guess. It used to be every Sunday but no, I'm not driving with all the old people and shit getting in my way.
The car I'm leaning to drive in is a Ford Focus. For me, it's the most usly car on Earth aside from the Fiat 500 but y'know, what can you do? I'm learning to drive a car that has a manual gearbox - or a stick shift as the Americans call it. It's not as hard as some people have made out but it takes a lot of getting used to. It's one of those cars that has a keyless ignition. That was fun when I first found that out. All you've gotta do it put the clutch in all the way then press a button that's near the handbrake.
Apparently I had a heavy foot when I'm driving. That means I like to go really fast and I enjoy it, which is true. However, it makes a horrible noise when you go to pull away. What you have to do it have the handbrake on, set the gas pedal so it's at 2,000 revs then slowly pull the clutch out to find the "biting point". This is basically the point where the clutch engages with the engine to let you pull away. Then you let the handbrake off and away you go pulling up the clutch the rest of the way.
Let me tell you what my instructor doesn't like about my driving:
- I tend to go over the speed limit a lot - oops. It's only a minor offense in your driving test but y'know, every one does it and it's incredibly easy to do it as well as your foot relaxes on the pedal.
- I oversteer, which is a bit weird since I'm in a car that has power steering.
- I use the gears to slow down - no, that's what they're there for. Engine braking for the win.
- Other traffic bothers me when it's behind me. It's fucking terrifying having to do a hill start when you've got someone trying to crawl up your ass. If they gave me more room - preferrably the whole road, I'd be fine.
- I slow down too early - ha, I didn't today - I almost flew into another car - oops.
- I have races with people on dual carriage ways... I quite enjoy that since I can go faster than Subarus and Nissan Skylines. Yeah I'm a bit of a girl racer - oops.
Before I tell you about the disaster of a lesson I had today, I'll tell you about what happened on Thursday. Every few years, driving instructors have to have a "check test". Basically that's where your instructor is assessed by driving examiners to see if they're actually teaching properly and whatever. Yeah, they asked Graham if one of them could sit in on my lesson. I didn't mind - the extra pressure wasn't going to be good but y'know. So on Thursday, Graham came by, drove down to the test centre. The reason I didn't drive down is because you've have to go on a motorway and I can't drive on them while I'm still a learner. Anyway, we got to the town and Graham had me drive around a little bit - speedbumps are not fun to dive over - I fucking hate them. Ha, right, I had to do a hillstart and I rolled back a little bit and this girl sitting behind me actually thought I was going to hit the bumper of her car. Bitch pelase, if I wanted to, I would've hit it - hard. It's what she gets for crawling up my backside.
So anyway, we got to the test centre thing - Graham left me in the car so he could meet this guy Lynton who would be sitting in on my lesson. About 15 minutes after he'd left me, Graham came back with two guys. Mhm... I was going to have two men sitting in the car while I was driving. Lynton - I knew about, he's a driving examiner and he's actually going to be there when I take my driving test.The other guy, Phil, was there to assess Lynton. What is so hard about assessing people? Really? Everything actually went ok with those guys in the back. I deid keep looking at them in the rearview mirror though just to see if they were still there. They're not allowed to talk to me during the exam thing you see. Everything went fine, apart from the fact that some guy almost took my front end off at a roundabout, thank you.
Yeah, the same thing happened in today's lesson. I was at a roundabout - a proper bitch of a roundabout that you have to do a hillstart on to get onto it and do it quickly. There was traffic leading up to the junction thing so I slowed down, stopped behind them, got myself doing the hillstart and was on my way. Then some guy came out of nowhere as I pulled out and cut across me. I stopped, still on this hill - somehow managed to save the engine from stalling. So I sat there, juggling the gas and clutch pedals, trying to stop myself rolling back and Graham's screaming at me to pull away even though I couldn't otherwise another car was going to hit me. Yeah, I was not impressed with that.
Other than that, driving is pretty alright. It's just stressful really, well, it is when you're learning. Oh and I got stuck behind someone driving a car with an automatic transmission. Have I told you lately how much I hate British people who drive automatic transmission? They crawl along the road then to slow down they just take their foot off of the pedal. They don't slow down gradually, like I would, no. They slow down instantly - since the engine changes gear automatically. The amount of times that moron slowed down when it wasn't necessary. I had a good two second gap between him and I then he would slow down, making my gap smaller - which is dangerous for me since he could stop suddenly, I'd go up his ass - doing my front end in, someone would come up the back of me - doing my rear end in. Ugh.
Here is where I end my complaining :) Thank you for reading, I love you and shit.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Friday, 21 May 2010
What do lemons smell like?
You may think that the question in the title has no relevance. That I chose it to be arbitrary and some how witty. If only I were in all honesty. In fact, that question is something that I ask myself every day, hoping that one day I will find out the answer.
You see, I have no sense of smell. No, it’s not a joke. Again, if only it were. I’ve been devoid of it for fourteen years.
How did I lose it? Well, when I was 7, I contracted a disease called Glue Ear. Basically, it’s where poisons and such build in your ear drums and solidify. If it’s not caught in time then it makes people permanently deaf. So I had this operation to sort it out and since the ears, nose and throat are all connected, the surgeons had a look at everything else, just to see if I was ok there. Then they found that my adenoids were infected. The adenoids are at the back of the throat and they help you process smells and such. That’s why my voice is so deep for a girl. I had them removed.
It never used to bother me before - until someone bought me some Lemon Soufflé soap around October time - y’know the one that seems to be going around every supermarket in England. Since then, it’s the only soap I’ve been using. Every day, after a bath, I’ll ask myself what lemons smell like. If they even smell nice. Y’know, I don’t want to be rubbing myself with something that smells like shit y’know?
Sometimes I feel outcast from everyone else. Yeah, it’s not a proper disability but it’s one all the same. It’s not going to hinder my life in any way, except I won’t be able to smell gas leaks or if something’s on fire. Other than that, I’m more than capable of living an ordinary life. My friends know and my family know but they still forget. They’ll ask me to smell something and I’ll look at them, wondering if they’re actually being serious or just joking around. So I stay silent, maybe nod at them as if to say “you know I can’t”. Sometimes they pick up on it and apologise. Other times, I have to tell them again.
Not that it matters or anything, it’s not really something that obvious to people is it? I’m not going to wear a sign that says “Caution, I don’t work properly”. I’ve adopted the mentality that this is the imperfection that makes me perfect. There’s no way I can get it back and to be honest, I don’t think I want it. I can live in blissful ignorance as people cringe as the smell of sulphur and methane.
In a way, I really am a “Misfit Toy”… and you know what? I’m damn proud of that.
You see, I have no sense of smell. No, it’s not a joke. Again, if only it were. I’ve been devoid of it for fourteen years.
How did I lose it? Well, when I was 7, I contracted a disease called Glue Ear. Basically, it’s where poisons and such build in your ear drums and solidify. If it’s not caught in time then it makes people permanently deaf. So I had this operation to sort it out and since the ears, nose and throat are all connected, the surgeons had a look at everything else, just to see if I was ok there. Then they found that my adenoids were infected. The adenoids are at the back of the throat and they help you process smells and such. That’s why my voice is so deep for a girl. I had them removed.
It never used to bother me before - until someone bought me some Lemon Soufflé soap around October time - y’know the one that seems to be going around every supermarket in England. Since then, it’s the only soap I’ve been using. Every day, after a bath, I’ll ask myself what lemons smell like. If they even smell nice. Y’know, I don’t want to be rubbing myself with something that smells like shit y’know?
Sometimes I feel outcast from everyone else. Yeah, it’s not a proper disability but it’s one all the same. It’s not going to hinder my life in any way, except I won’t be able to smell gas leaks or if something’s on fire. Other than that, I’m more than capable of living an ordinary life. My friends know and my family know but they still forget. They’ll ask me to smell something and I’ll look at them, wondering if they’re actually being serious or just joking around. So I stay silent, maybe nod at them as if to say “you know I can’t”. Sometimes they pick up on it and apologise. Other times, I have to tell them again.
Not that it matters or anything, it’s not really something that obvious to people is it? I’m not going to wear a sign that says “Caution, I don’t work properly”. I’ve adopted the mentality that this is the imperfection that makes me perfect. There’s no way I can get it back and to be honest, I don’t think I want it. I can live in blissful ignorance as people cringe as the smell of sulphur and methane.
In a way, I really am a “Misfit Toy”… and you know what? I’m damn proud of that.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Popping the Blogspot cherry...
So, I finally succumbed to the temptation and came over to see what this is all about.
I’ll start with the obligatory opening post where I tell you about myself.
Hello, my name’s Tasha and I’m a Lushotologist. If you don’t know what Lushotology is, stick with me kid, I’ll educate you, if you’re lucky, I’ll point you in the direction of the Black Pope. Hmm? Oh, no, he’s not a Nigerian version of the Catholic Pope.
So I guess you want to know my life story, huh? Well, I’m not gonna tell you it all in one go. Then I’d have nothing to talk to you about and that wouldn’t make an interesting blog, would it?
Let’s see… I’m twenty years old. I’m English... Hold on, I need to let my lovely Americans have a cold shower, they have something about the English accent…
I live in a sleepy little village, surrounded by Conservative elderly people who keep to themselves then toddle on down to the Post Office every Pension Day to complain about the state of today’s youth with their friends. Except on school days, since I live opposite a secondary school [or High School to those of the American persuasion], I get all the chavs standing outside screaming “FUCK YOU CUNT I’M HAVING A FAG!” - wait, I’ll convert that into the proper chav speak: “FUK U KUN’! U’M ‘AVIN’ A FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!”… and that’s just the teachers. I know, I know, it's scary how good I was at that. England’s just great, isn’t it?[end sarcasm].
Oh yes, I’m incredibly sarcastic. You may think I’m being rude but actually I’m trying to be really hilarious,doesn’t always work though.
What are my blog posts going to be about? Whatever I want them to be. It is mine after all. The following things will be mentioned a lot: Driving, Green Day, Harlow Cuadra, John Roecker, Lushotology, music in general, Queen, Rancid and a few other things that have escaped my mind for now.
Well, I’ve kept you long enough kiddies. Off you pop to suck on the teat of Mother Vodka and Mother Barcardi. Until the next time friends… I think I could fall in love with you.
Peace, Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Tasha oxo
I’ll start with the obligatory opening post where I tell you about myself.
Hello, my name’s Tasha and I’m a Lushotologist. If you don’t know what Lushotology is, stick with me kid, I’ll educate you, if you’re lucky, I’ll point you in the direction of the Black Pope. Hmm? Oh, no, he’s not a Nigerian version of the Catholic Pope.
So I guess you want to know my life story, huh? Well, I’m not gonna tell you it all in one go. Then I’d have nothing to talk to you about and that wouldn’t make an interesting blog, would it?
Let’s see… I’m twenty years old. I’m English... Hold on, I need to let my lovely Americans have a cold shower, they have something about the English accent…
I live in a sleepy little village, surrounded by Conservative elderly people who keep to themselves then toddle on down to the Post Office every Pension Day to complain about the state of today’s youth with their friends. Except on school days, since I live opposite a secondary school [or High School to those of the American persuasion], I get all the chavs standing outside screaming “FUCK YOU CUNT I’M HAVING A FAG!” - wait, I’ll convert that into the proper chav speak: “FUK U KUN’! U’M ‘AVIN’ A FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!”… and that’s just the teachers. I know, I know, it's scary how good I was at that. England’s just great, isn’t it?
Oh yes, I’m incredibly sarcastic. You may think I’m being rude but actually I’m trying to be really hilarious,
What are my blog posts going to be about? Whatever I want them to be. It is mine after all. The following things will be mentioned a lot: Driving, Green Day, Harlow Cuadra, John Roecker, Lushotology, music in general, Queen, Rancid and a few other things that have escaped my mind for now.
Well, I’ve kept you long enough kiddies. Off you pop to suck on the teat of Mother Vodka and Mother Barcardi. Until the next time friends… I think I could fall in love with you.
Peace, Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Tasha oxo
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