I can't sing

There is very little I can remember from my early school days.

I do remember there were two red brick buildings - the smaller one for the infants and the more imposing one for the juniors. They were separated by a playground.

I can remember my first day at school with my elder brother completely disowning me, despite reassurances from my mother that he would look after me.

The toilets were unheated and outside in the far corner of the playground. In fact, I'm pretty certain the urinal bit had no roof. This was a facility I spent an awful lot of time visiting due to an embarrassingly weak bladder. My Mum said it was just nerves.

I do remember an enormous flying bug coming through the classroom window when I was in the infants. It made the most evil noise and I nearly shat myself as it whizzed around the room. I now have good reason to believe it was a hornet.

There was a time when we (as a class) were ascending the massive, polished stone stairs in strict formation, and we passed a pile of vomit. The stench was enough to start my own bile on it's upwards journey only to be thwarted at the last second by some serious intervention by me.

I was chosen to be a pirate in an ambitious school production of The Pirates of Penzance, which fuelled a lifelong love of Gilbert and Sullivan.

I can recall a foreign girl in my class. I haven't a clue where she came from but she had a funny accent and was called something like Olga. And she was disposed to frequently peeing herself. She would often exit the classroom having left a puddle under her desk, and once, during PE, we all had to step over the piss on the floor.

And as I write this, I'm starting to remember more and more, which is fun, but not my intention. However, there was one event, so mind-blowingly crucial in my life, that I don't think it has ever been surpassed in it's ability to negatively effect my whole life.

I was about nine and a new headmaster had arrived. He was Welsh and had an unfortunate stammer. And he loved singing. He loved to hear the school sing, and 'singing' quickly replaced many of the more diverse activities within the school.

Striving for perfection from the singing throng of pupils, he once did a walk-by, pausing by each of us with his ear close to our mouths as we sung our hearts out. The 'spoilers' were quickly identified and the order given that the guilty few must always mime in future. And so I started a life time of miming. And as the implications of miming grew, my hatred for his cruelty has grown also.

He was right of course. I can't sing!

Okay, there are many other 'talents' I possess, but I just can't sing. I have since learnt this is something I have in common with the delicious Stephen Fry. He has written about his grief much more eloquently than I could ever achieve, but he summed it up perfectly when he said of his inability to sing, "You can't join in".

He's right, you can't join in! I've never been able to join in singing 'Happy Birthday', at funerals I'm unable to join in, at weddings, Christmas Carols, and the very thought of a Karaoke evening would induce me to throw myself under a bus rather than attend. And the worse thing is I love music. I can hear music note perfect in my head but vocal reproduction is impossible. Singing is a sociable event, and when there's singing, I'm unsociable.

Maybe if we hadn't had a change of Headmaster I wouldn't have spent my life miming the words. It wouldn't have made me a better singer but, just maybe, I might have felt able to join in once and a while...

It shouldn't be so unfair

The driving verses riding test becomes even more unfair today...

Today sees the introduction of Independent Driving/Riding, which means that the candidate will be asked to memorise a route and then follow it for 10 mins. The motorcycle candidate must be informed verbally - not via radio. This may add a significant time to the bike test with the examiner dismounting his machine and walking up to the rider to explain things. This could result in longer test times with consequentially less tests per day.

Also, as from today, the number of specific manoeuvres a car driver will be asked to perform will be halved - from 2 to 1. Bikers, with the introduction of the modular test last year, now have to perform 10 specific manoeuvres.

In addition to the above changes, the car driver has a 15 'driver faults' allowance (know colloquially as minors), whereas the biker only has an allowance of 10 on their road ride.

Since the introduction of the modular bike test, there are now 2 manouvres which are largly impossible to practice before test day - the car driver can practice everything he will be asked to do before the test.

There are significantly more car test centres than bike centres. Many riders need to ride over an hour to reach their test centre, only to be told they are not safe enough to ride a bike, and then they must ride the hour back home again.

The accident rate on test has soared for bikers, although the DSA seem reluctant to admit this. They appear to be in denial.

All this will see an increase in riders not taking a test and continuing to ride on 'L' plates without any check on their riding ability.

Anyone might think the government are attempting to drive bigger bikes off the road....

Head banging moment...

I love my job...

But like all jobs, there is always the proverbial 'fly-in-the-ointment', and with my job it is the Driving Standards Agency.

Although I am a self employed motorcycle instructor, the DSA firmly believe I work for them. Sure, they are responsible for driving & riding tests and all instructors must be approved by them (which makes sense) and there are some very decent and well-intentioned people working for them, but the agency itself has lost direction...

Some parts of the motorcycle test have now deteriorated into a farce - an extremely expensive (and, dare I say it, dangerous) farce, because the DSA have spent a small fortune on the implication of a new test and one part of that test (avoidance and controlled stop) is almost impossible to practice before the test. The test is so specific the only way to practice it is to use a test centre facility at the weekend, however, to be fair, the facility is hired out to instructors for free.

Okay, what's the problem there, I hear you ask. Well, the DSA never managed to build enough of these mega expensive test centres, which leaves many people with at least an hours ride to get to one - also, trying to book a practice session is akin to finding hen's teeth in a haystack.

But, four weeks ago I managed to book two x half hour practice slots for today. It was the first time I'd managed this feat.

I duly arrived with my two students and was greeted by a DSA-appointed official who acknowledge I had the two slots booked and I was then invited to 'sign in'.

And that was when the fun went out of the day because he needed to see my 'Card'. This is like a licence issued to trainers by the DSA, and (you've guessed it) I didn't have it with me. No one, not even the DSA, had bothered to mention I would need it. I knew my certificate number which was required on the form, but he insisted, "You could be anyone".

"Ask all these other instructors standing around. They know me!"

"Sorry" (and trust me, he did actually say these very words) "It's more than my jobs worth".

Having tried a few futile attempts to talk him around, we sidled away to consider our options - which were basically just one, to go away.

After a few minutes a couple of the other instructors came up to me. Word had obviously gotten around, and they wanted to use my precious slots.

"To use them, we must have your consent as the approved instructor who has booked the slots".

"But the little man over there doesn't believe I am that person!"

"Well, he said you must give your permission".

And maybe you can see why I titled this blog as I did. Had my logic suddenly desserted me, or was this an appropriate time to bang my head against the nearest wall?

Reflections

I feel like a quick recap on some of the things I might have commented on over the last 2 years - if I'd been blogging...

Russia turns off gas supply to Europe - No one saw that coming!

Barack Obama sworn in as 44th US President - A bit like Blair & Brown, no one could be worse than Bush.

Swine Flu officially declared a global pandemic - Did anyone really believe them? Well, politicians maybe.

Michael Jackson dies - Or did he???? Conspiracy theories abounded and the favourite was a faked death to escape his massive debts. How ridiculous - can anyone seriously believe that Jacko and Elvis could live together?

Barack Obama named as winner of Nobel Peace Prize 2009 - For what?

Windows 7 launched - I'm still on Vista but feel no ill effects so far.

Iceland have world's first lesbian head of government and then give us volcanic ash - There's something very odd about Iceland. This unpronounceable volcano displayed an unexpected reluctance to refrain from spewing ash into our atmosphere and the initial flight ban quickly became an obvious and embarrassing display of knee jerk overreaction.

BP spill oil into Gulf of Mexico - Oops.

Football World Cup held in South Africa - Best ever, and shows how we can hate and then learn to love something as irritating as the vuvuzela (bit like The X Factor)

Swine Flu pandemic officially declared over - Well, that was a relief...

Labour & Brown defeated - Hu-bloody-rah

Time flies

A surprise email appeared in my in-box this week... Someone had stumbled upon my Blog and, somehow, felt moved to make a comment, the message implored (too strong a word?) me to write some more.

Not wishing to disappoint my new found 'follower', I considered this option for about 30 seconds before realising I no longer felt grumpy - well, at least not as grumpy as I once was. That was before I escaped the clutches of employment and became the master of my own destiny... by becoming self employed.

And that was almost 2 years ago.

And then I reflected on my motivation to 'blog' in the first place - was it because I was grumpy, or maybe cynical, a pessimist, a realist, a sceptic, or perhaps simply someone who enjoys writing a few words for his own amusement? Or a time waster?

My wife would probably opt for the latter.

I think I just like to 'get things off my chest', and on reflection, there have been many occasions over the last 2 years when I've ranted at the TV or the radio when I could have opened my Blog and purged myself by writing a few words - had a giggle at the absurdity of it all - and moved on.

Well, maybe I'll do just that from now on....