Let’s face it chaps…women are better drivers than men!
We have recently returned from Mallorca after a short visit, generally catching up with friends whilst staying with my sister-in-law. The weather was almost (but not quite!) blameless and as it has been quite some time since I was last here, I have to say that the island still has plenty to positively say for itself even in mid February. Nevertheless, tempted as I am to launch into a plethora of platitudes about how fab the island still is - I mostly want to tell you about how I got on with my hire car over that period. First of all, although I have heard all the moans over the years about ‘iffy' hire companies, I have to say that the company that we rented from was both professional and straightforward in every way possible. Which is bit annoying I suppose for a hack like me looking for a slightly biased moan on this subject; but the problem was not them…but me! Trust me dear reader, the car was perfect in every way, a glorious racing green with an element of manly sexiness that given any other driver, would have them beating attractive women off with a stick. However, I need to point out one-or-two problems that were not the fault of the car, but mostly to do with my own crass stupidity. Like many modern cars this one was as quiet as a mouse and I have to tell you that on one occasion when we went shopping for approximately 18 minutes I didn't actually switch off the engine as it was so quiet, only to find my Peugeot sat in its parking space humming gently to itself. Naturally as a chap/person I immediately blamed Julie and she then vowed never to let me drive the thing myself because I was “… both pathetic and useless.” And so she drove it for the whole of the seven day holiday. I have to say that although I made a bit of a fuss - you know the sort of thing…male pride etc - I was more than happy for her to do it. However there were some scary side effects, one major problem is that I am a hopeless front passenger and was twitching like a gerbil on speed for most of the time spent in the car alongside her. Then there was the whole business of trying to understand what all those electronic dashboard symbols were about, because I read somewhere just last week, that more than 90% of drivers don't have a clue either. Add this to the fact that men will never read a car manual, and perhaps it is hardly surprising that I left the car engine running in a Palmanova carpark for so long. Anyway, back to my un-manly wriggling! I have this theory that to sit in the front seat next to the driver on continental roads is the next worst thing to having a permanent ‘fit-of-the-vapours' along with uncontrolled foot-stamping and general twitching when your partner in life is driving perfectly reasonably…thank you very much. Nevertheless, I have to say that as age catches up with you (surely not!) so a man's nervous system starts to act in rather strange ways. Straightforward car journeys start to turn into monumental challenges and it also has to be said that I spent most of my time when driving swearing in an unpleasant manner at fellow motorists, some of whom need to be taken outside and shot (twice!) when they appear to attempting to go upand-over your vehicular backside at high speed. So then, whereupon my macho nature would be aghast at a thought of a women being a better driver that me (apart from after a few drinks naturally) I am now more than happy for a certain person to take over the driving - and let her try to work out what that symbol actually means of the electronic dashboard.