Of dreadful driving lessons
23.04.09, 8:00 pm

Just got back from my first driving lesson after 6 years, and it went so hideously that I feel like crying. I don�t think the lesson was actually that hideous, to say that it�s been so long, but driving in Sheffield in the middle of rush-hour is so very different to tootling about in Hucknall, North Notts (population = 22) in the middle of the day. I haven�t felt so panicked and out-of-control in a long time. I don�t know the roads, I don�t know the three billion hills, I don�t know the biting point and I don�t know what I�m bloody doing. ARGH. Plus my teacher kept chatting on constantly about absolutely nothing, which was really off-putting, but not telling me the important things, such as the speed limit and the way we were going.

It was just a big panicky rush of an hour, and has left me feeling a bit shaky. Obviously next lesson (Monday, shudder) will undoubtedly be better, and once I learn Sheffield�s roads it�ll be even better, and eventually, eventually, I�ll be a vaguely passable driver. It�s okay, I�ve gone and bought myself some beer, so the shaky feeling will go.

Bit of a flat weekend in Manchester, it has to be admitted. Mel turned up Saturday lunchtime (late, as per), and we got the train to Manchester and then Didsbury, which involved much too much running between platforms at Piccadilly. Becky met us with Nick, so I got to meet him for the second time, and we went back to her house and did endless dress trying on with Becky�s scary mother. I was told that I had �a very wide back� and had to have my dress let out FOUR TIMES, which made me feel like a complete elephant. The dresses aren�t too bad... better than I was expecting, and yet still not great. The brown is dreadful. The brown should be relegated to Satan�s Bargin Bin. Oh, had a bit too much beer, it seems. Head feels a bit fuzzy.

Becky seemed incredibly sad for the entirety of the day, and when I pressed her about it in the coffee shop she said that she was worried about finding a job, as it was becoming patently obvious that she would need one and she was having trouble deciding what she wanted to do. I was as supportive as possible, but couldn�t really help her with the fact that her CV has a gaping 18-month hole in it. It didn�t help in that her mother was blatantly trying to rub in the fact that Mel and I have successful careers, and wasted no opportunity in pointing out how great it was that we�re getting on with our lives so well. Me and Mel came away from the trip (after more absurd, pantomime running between trains that gave me the most mental palpitations ever) feeling decidedly downbeat, seeing as we couldn�t really help all that much.

Sunday began with a hideous trip around MeadowHell for some brown shoes for the wedding. Nice brown shoes do not exist; they�re a figment of Becky�s imagination. Finally bought some but secretly hate them, not least because I�m convinced I�m going to topple over at any second. Came home to a lovely roast dinner cooked by the boy, which cheered me up somewhat. Haven�t even started buying things for the hideous hen-do weekend of pain. Plus, think I�m going to end up on my period for the spa, which is just peachy.

James�s dreadful friends are up tomorrow and Saturday, and my dad�s also coming down with HagFace on Sunday afternoon, so there�s room for zero fun this weekend. I should be grateful as he�s bringing my recently mended Epiphone guitar, but it�ll be such a painful trip that I can�t quite muster it up. On a brighter note, very much enjoying the lovely sunshine at the moment. Have a tiny, tiny tan from having lunch in the churchyard next to the hospital too. Yay for small things!

Definitely had too much beer.

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