Don’t even ask me how fast I had to go to get to the speed awareness course on time. The rush-hour dash was made even worse by the fact that the letter from ‘the UK’s leading provider of occupational road risk management, driver assessment and training for corporate organisations and speed awareness’ warned me that if I was not there at 4.45 p.m. precisely I would be vaporised in a process called ‘renewal’. Actually, it didn’t say that it said something about three points on my licence. Same difference.
I screeched into Guildford yelling, ‘Come on, get out of the way, I’ve got a speeding course to get to,’ as old ladies dived for cover. At the Holiday Inn, I joined 24 other downtrodden members of the squeezed middle who had handed over £95 and raced to an annoying location at an impossible time to avoid points. We sat, heads hanging in defeat, until a lady in a snazzy patterned cardie marched into the conference room.
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