Testing Times

   I promised in yesterday`s blog to give an account of my Driving test in my Morgan Plus Four. It was somewhat eventful as you will see.
  The first problem was that the Test was on a weekday, and my benevolent naval qualified driver was, of course, at work and not available to drive me to the Centre. What I did to get round this was to leave the canvas hood erected, together with the rather opaque side screens and drive carefully and furtively to the centre. Even though I still had the L plates displayed, a police officer would have had to peer in the low windscreen to see that there was no accompanying driver and luckily none did. Once arrived near the Test centre, I stripped the screens, hood and frames and stowed them away, vastly improving the visibility. Luckily the weather was dry!
  I went into the centre to sign in and emerged with my allocated tester, took the rudimentary sight test of reading a number-plate at 25 yards, and led the tester towards my vehicle. When we arrived at the Morgan, squatting at the kerb, the tester continued for a few paces before looking incredulously at the Mog. `Is THIS your car?` he asked. `If I had known I would have brought my coat` I apologised abjectly and we crammed ourselves inside. `Where is your qualified driver` he demanded. I explained he had to see a man about a dog, or some such story... `He should have waited` Again I apologised. Things were not going well.
   They did not improve, either. As we started off, I noticed, to my horror that the speedo had quit. The examiner noticed it too, of course, and my (true) comment that it had only just failed was somewhat sceptically viewed. The Test had started in disaster, and the only benefit was that, as I was convinced I could not possibly pass, I drove in a much more relaxed way , despite having a mouth so dry it felt like leather. As I have said, I had driven the Mog several thousand miles and was thoroughly at home in it. The Examiner may also have been impressed by my hand signals, In those far-off days, cars did not have to have indicators or trafficators and the Morgan was not so equipped.
  The driving went well and I easily answered the Highway Code questions as I was still used to absorbing and regurgitating quantities of info from my schooldays. Finally he checked his clipboard, hesitated and reluctantly said `Well, I think I`ll give you a pass.` I could have kissed the fellow! After he had walked off, leaving me to wait for my `Qualified driver` I tore off the ignoble L plates and stuffed them in a near-by hedge, before driving off in triumph `licenced to kill!` The speedo came back on line, typical, and I later found that the needle sometimes seemed to turn back too far and did not engage. I cured this by gluing a splinter of wood to the little stop... In those impoverished days garage repairs were not affordable!
  Bye for now, going to muse on the vehicles (wrecks) I have driven in my time....