Operation Moron

After years of frustrating motoring behind members of the Centre Lane Owners Club and getting irate at the antics of card carriers of the Idiot Drivers Club, I have managed to locate their undercover training camp.

Deep in the heart of rural Suffolk, behind some anonymous iron gates, those motorists who were once competent enough to pass a driving test, are rigorously schooled in the art of being a moronic driver.

To infiltrate the establishment, I borrowed a Daewoo Nexia, hung some fluffy dice on the rear view mirror, and applied the stickers drawing attention to my membership of the National Trust and the RSPB, one advertising a forthcoming steam fair and another announcing that I slowed down for horses.

This subterfuge clearly worked, for on arrival at Dordle Hall I was greeted enthusiastically by Lady Paynin d'Ars, the aristocratic benefactor of the clubs in question. It was she who introduced me to Major Potter, my tutor for the basic training course for which I had enrolled.

The Major was ruthless as he put me and my fellow classmates through the initial test on the Highway Code. One poor chap got so confused, he accidentally got two questions correct and, by not achieving the 90% failure rate, did not continue to the next stage of training.

This session, led by the Hon. Cecil Flustrin-Pratt, was a seminar on the most infuriating techniques to be employed when driving in towns. "Contra-indication Manoeuvres" where one indicated an intention to go one way and then, at the last possible moment, turned in the opposite direction seemed to be a hot favourite. The "Alternating Speed Gambit" where one alternately accelerates and decelerates to a crawl for no apparent reason, was also popular. In the advanced training module we were taught how to combine this technique with staring distractedly as though looking for a house number while also weaving across two lanes of traffic.

After lunch we were put through our paces on the training camp's simulator under the eagle eye of Professor Totelplonker. This was particularly nerve-racking and our course numbers were further reduced when the 2CV driving lady failed miserably to stop at green traffic lights on the off-chance that they might turn red. Not that I managed to achieve the coveted "abysmal" mark attracting considerable criticism from Major Potter. "You must try harder man", he bellowed, "Stopping at a main road junction and checking for traffic before pulling out is totally unacceptable".

I also blotted my copybook on the simulated motorway driving test by travelling at more than 50 mph in the centre lane of a clear motorway. However, I was able to redeem myself when it came to the group session. This was not unlike Sega Rally but involved using a mobile phone, consulting the atlas and re-tuning the radio while weaving in and out of traffic in excess of the speed limit.

The Major was particularly impressed by my manic high-speed manoeuvre in exiting the motorway from the outside lane causing two of my fellow students to have an accident. But his highest praise was reserved for the Reliant Robin owning pensioner who had devoted his whole life to developing erratic driving into an art form.

It had been a gruelling first day but I had done enough to demonstrate my ineptitude behind the wheel to ensure that my cover was not blown.

The first day ended with a most entertaining after-dinner speaker who provided evidence of the strength of the international links between these subversive national clubs. Senor Chaosti's master-class in perfecting the "Milanese Feint" was excellent. This classic Italian manoeuvre starts with a high-speed approach to within inches of the victim's rear bumper. Having alerted them with a loud blast of air horns and gone to overtake, one then veers in the opposite direction and overtakes on the inside before stamping hard on the brakes, seconds after getting in front.

I retired to bed to spend a disturbed night in which Lady Paynin d'Ars, Prof. Totelplonker, and a cavalcade of lurching horse boxes and caravans featured in my nightmares. I woke early and in trepidation for Day Two was to be the climax of the course - an extended drive under the eagle eyes of Major Potter and his panel of examiners.

I drew the short straw and was first to tackle the demanding route accompanied by Mr Compleet-Burke, a former star pupil of the Major. After 30 years of, what I like to think is reasonably safe and sensible driving, I now had to prove I was a complete moron behind the wheel if I was to obtain my Certificate of Incompetence.

I concentrated hard and got off to an impressive start by scraping the side of someone else's car as I reversed out of the parking bay and by remembering to turn on my rear fog lights for no apparent reason. But, I was soon in trouble.

At the first set of traffic lights, I succeeded in getting into the correct filter lane to turn left, earning a disapproving grunt from my examiner. I then failed to drive through an inviting puddle alongside a bus queue. I did manage to overshoot the required exit from the roundabout on the Bury St. Edmunds bypass and stopped suddenly to the consternation of all the following drivers. But, I spoilt it all by not reversing backwards on the roundabout. As Mr Compleet-Burke pointed out, my performance barely warranted a "poor" marking, let alone the "dismal" rating necessary to pass the course.

Lady Paynin d'Ars and even Major Potter were sympathetic and outlined the specialised re-education courses available to help such a promising pupil really kick the habits of year's of good driving. But I could tell that their hearts weren't in it. Their minds were elsewhere, on the awards ceremony and particularly, on the presentation of the highly-prized, "Pillock of the Course" award.

This was to go to a Mondeo driving sales rep who had excelled in the driving test by causing a multiple pile-up on the A1 involving a petrol tanker, a school bus and several other vehicles.