So I can add another thing to the list of things I can't seem to do. I cannot download the last three episodes of season 2 of Weeds. It's driving me metal. That's right I said metal screech, like when you bite the end of the yellow pencil, metal.

Also cannot design banners also I cannot understand why the dog is violently licking itching herself again since she doesn't have any flea-type beasties ah t'all.

Also cannot drive. No sir. Decisively cannot drive. So because by now it's sort of a public record of humiliation, and because Simon very cunningly told me I write well about my failures to learn to conduire un vehicle pas mal lourde est dangereus. I will tell you all about my test (while m-fing tv links loads my episode of Weeds because i am too incompetent to find a decent seed)

I arrived late at the test centre on purpose to I could pay a $20 cancellation fee and thus avoid what would inevitably be a painful experience. Unfortunately for us all, the system at the CAS ( don't ask me what it stands for) is so elegant that 10 minute wiggle room is built right into your processing point. So despite very effort, and even though I had to run back down the street and pay for a rental car as well, by 2:15pm I was sitting and waiting for my time at the wheel.

Half an hour later I was still waiting and my fear had turned to utter starvation, so I drank a bunch of water (uh-oh) and tried to ignore the black flecks dancing in front of my eyes. Note to self: eat a good lunch before attempting anything beaurocratic.

Finally at 3:00pm a nice man of east-European descent called my name. I arrived at the door and he was holding a file with a picture stuck to it of a young back man with Dreds. Not me. He said "this isn't you" and I concurred and thought myself safe. Unfortunately no, he had misread the label and was holding number 102. Not me, I was 100. Once sorted we went outside to a shiny new Ford Focus and I began to tremble with barely masked panic.

I sat down in the car and he explained that for the test I was up to my own devices basically, he would only tell me to turn and any special instructions as regarded parking.

He said;
"Okay."
I said;
" okay?"
He said;
"Start the car now."
I said;
"okay."

I turned the ignition, the car made a terrible sound between a choke and a fart, nothing happened. Except I almost peed.

"You don't start your car with the foot on the accelerator." said the instructor kindly.

"Okay, no of course not." I said, and actually would have preferred to have peed at the moment, as it would have taken the focus off this new worse shame.

I started the car, this time with my foot on the brake and the evaluator said, " Now head out of the parking lot, to the left." Checking left and right I reversed the car slowly, easing into the empty lot. At which point, somehow, an imp of the perverse or my latent and one might arguing self-generated dyslexia hit me squarely in the kisser and I hauled ass to the right.

"Left ?@!" said the instructor and I slammed the brakes. Then made as if to jam the car back into it's spot as if shutting the door on an embarrassing situation. That didn't work because the car was on a slight angle and I would have had to straighten out, which I was now also afraid to do.

We hovered there between abject failure and cowardice for about 10 seconds and then I eased back into the spot, took my trembling hands off the wheel and said.

"I can't do this, I am not ready to do this, I can't drive a car."

Of course I did do it, because the evaluator an altogether admirable specimen of humankind suggested that despite my misgivings I would learn more by failing the test then by avoiding it completely. He then took the time to tell me all the places I was failing as I was failing, which you may think is awful, but is actually pretty useful in a situation such as this one.

Stay tuned test number 2 is on October 31st.