[unfrufru]

Its in the cars guide on learning to drive

Never too old to get wheel
Mikey Robins
18jun04

Comedian Mikey Robins, 42, is the face of Land Rover. But as he writes below, it's just a pity that he can't drive one. Yet.

Australians are a nation in love with the automobile. Trust me, I know. Every time it came up in conversation I didn't drive, I was treated with the usual contempt we keep for people smugglers or folk who use leaf blowers on Sunday morning.
Not driving is seen as about as un-Australian as playing soccer with Phar Lap's heart.

People would walk away from me shaking their heads in disbelief.

It was embarrassing. Particularly because I never had a good excuse. It's not that I don't like cars. I love them. They are beautiful objects. But I just never got around to learning how to use the damn things ... until now.

That's right, at the age of 42 I decided enough is enough; it's about time I got behind the wheel.

Well that's not actually true – I have driven once or twice in my life before. When I was 17, I managed to get my mum's Honda Civic into third in a Newcastle Coles' car park.

The noise she made as we narrowly missed the Salvation Army clothing bin still haunts me to this day.

Then there was the time on Hamilton Island – a small incident involving a few too many tequilas, a golf cart and a roundabout that resulted in my wife walking back to our room while explaining to me that it "was not a good thing to get the cart up on two wheels", much to the amusement of the other guests.

You see, I think it all goes back to the dodgem cars at the Royal Easter Show. Remember me, the fat kid going the wrong way until the ride attendant jumps on the back and does the steering for him?

There's something sad about being an eighth-grader and being crudely and furiously berated by an adult who you know has had less education than you have.

So between those "happy" memories and being poor in my 20s, then getting very busy in show business about 10 years ago, I just never got around to learning to drive. Until this year when I shot an ad for Land Rover.

The Land Rover folk were lovely. After they laughed at me a bit behind my back I'm sure, they suggested I go for my licence and dangled a carrot of a loan of a car if I passed. My wife said yes, so next thing I knew I was studying up on the road rules like an over-excited 17-year-old.

You see, for people of my generation, it's a little harder to get your licence now than it was in our day.

These days, you have to pass the knowledge exam before you get your L-plates. And wasn't it fun? Me and every spotty Herbert up at the RTA sitting behind computers trying to get the rules to roundabouts correct.

Not only was I more than twice the age of every one around me but having had the good fortune of having made a few telly shows over the years, the little buggers all knew who I was.

Oh yeah, old Uncle Mikey was the cause of much giggling that day. But at least I passed. I even had the maturity not to go "in your face" to the poor kid next to me who failed. Even though deep down inside, I really, really wanted to.

Next, it was time to meet my instructor, Joseph, a man of infinite wisdom and patience. You see, there is something very physically different between learning to drive at 42 and doing the same at 17.

At 17, you are indestructible, you live on junk food, you've never had a hangover, hell, you've never even said to a doctor "nothing wrong, just thought I'd pop in for a check-up".

By 42, you are already more than fully aware of your own mortality. Learning to drive for the young is a simple rite of passage; for the older bloke, it's like learning to fly a jet fighter into battle.

Which I suppose can make one err a little on the overly cautious side. I'm certain I was the only student that day to whom Joseph kept saying "you can go a bit faster if you want to mate".

Then there was the issue of racking up the 50-odd hours of driving required before I can take my test. There was no way I was going to fork out for 50 paid lessons and seeing as my parents are now gone, I was in the odd situation of having to ask my wife if she'd take me out for driving lessons.

Now there's a question you don't see in the wedding vows. But she's been great, apart from the fact that she constantly narrates the action up ahead, as in "Okay, set of lights coming up, we're going to make a right turn, there's that silver car coming the other way".

Apparently, it's not for my benefit. She claims it keeps her calm, plus I'm certain she's leaving tiny little grip marks in the passenger door handle. She even let me take the car for a spin to the Blue Mountains the other day.

And hell, I have to admit weaving through the bends among that beautiful scenery and feeling the car respond to each small change I made in acceleration, braking and steering, I was kicking myself.

Why the hell didn't I do this 20 years ago. I smiled and could have sworn I saw in the rear view mirror, the ghost of a dodgem car attendant gently falling off the back of the car and swearing his head off.

The Daily Telegraph