A New look at road safety

Last weekend I spent a lot of time on the motorways around the south east of England. Some of it was working, driving a truck, and some of it was, in my car, out of necessity rather than for pleasure.

I spent an awful lot of this time stationary. Why? Because there was a major accident on nearly every Motorway in the south east on both Saturday, and Sunday. M25, M40, M3, M4, M1, M23. Now when you are sitting in traffic waiting to move, you have plenty of time to think. I started to wander what had caused so many accidents in such a small area in such a small time, and came up with the ideal solution, one that will not only prevent accidents, save lives and make the roads much safer for all, but also benefit the economy, and the environment.

Everybody knows that trucks are dirty, noisy, nasty things that are driven by morons, who like nothing more than causing accidents and delaying everyone, but on the weekend, there are relatively few trucks on the road, however, there are millions of cars. Each car is driven by someone who, at some time in their lives has passed a driving test. Well, I hope that they have.

 Now we all know that once you pass a test to drive a car, you are the greatest thing since mother lost here pride and sliced her loaf. You don’t need to learn anything else, you never need to undertake refresher driving courses, and no one can ever tell you how to drive. WRONG!

 99% of car drivers take no further training after passing their test, unless they have a medical condition, or get banned and are required by the court to retake the test. You could have passed your test 60 years ago in an old Austin A30, and now be driving around in an Aston Martin DB9 without ever taking any further training. When you took your test, back in 1960, there were no motorways, very few cars could travel at above 100MPH, let alone 70MPH, Disc brakes, fuel injection, Diesel cars, radial ply tyres, as well as things like ABS, EBS and traction control, were way ahead in the future.

Even someone passing a test today, is not equipped to go out on the roads alone, and yet we let them, no requirement to undertake further training, no restriction on the vehicle they can drive, other than the cost of insurance. How many times do we hear the story about a young, normally male driver under 25, killing himself and possibly his mates because he thinks he is a better driver than anyone else?

Now here is my solution, the CPCD, or Certificate of Proficient Car Driving. This would be a training course that each driver would have to attend in order to renew his/her licence every five years. It would comprise of 5 x 7 hour training “modules” taken over a five year period either separately, or as one 35 hour week long course. There would be no pass or fail, just attend and get the hours in.

Training schools could register modules based on PowerPoint presentations, with no requirement to actually go anywhere near a car or road, where groups of people could pay up to £100 a time to sit and listen to the instructor. There could be lots of coffee and smoke breaks, as well as luncheon provided at extra cost.

Some of the modules could teach such interesting things as The highway code, speed limits, how to enter and exit a motorway without cutting someone up, the correct use of signals, how to read road signs, lane discipline, how not to “undertake”, how not to use your mobile phone to send a text while driving, drinking a skinny latte and smoking a B&H. how not to put on your make up or shave using the rear view mirror, and how not to chat constantly to your passengers without looking once in your mirror.

There could be courses in how to read a map, how to use a Sat Nav, how to anticipate and plan ahead. We could have distance and length modules, where car drivers have to judge the braking distance of a fully laden truck against the gap just in front of it. They could learn how to plan a journey, so that they actually set out in plenty of time to get to the end without having to drive at 100MPH, up the backside of the car in front, because they might be late at the office Perhaps people could be taught how NOT to turn caravans over every Saturday in the summer.

There could be a “born again biker” module, targeted at those lads who, back in the sixties rode a BSA Bantam down to Brighton to have it out with the lambretta boys, or in the seventies, had a Suzuki 125 and now feel the need to re-live their youth. How to squeeze yourself into leathers that are obviously far too small for your belly might be one. How not to show off to your mates outside the Pub could be another.

We could extend it to cyclists too, How Not to pass thorough red lights, how to use cycle lanes when they are available instead of using the road and blocking the path of car and truck drivers. Pedestrians could be made to complete courses on how to operate Pelican crossings, and what a picture of a little red man means. Mothers could be taught not to push their pushchair and baby into the road without first looking.

Now for the advantages, first of all the reduction in road accidents would mean that everyone would get to where they are going quicker, leaving the roads quieter at busy times. Emergency services, such a Fire, police and ambulance could concentrate on the other duties they have to perform, like putting out fires, catching criminals, and treating sick people. The NHS would save millions every year that could be spent on such things as new cancer drugs, and caring for the elderly.

The individuals will gain because by learning to drive more efficiently, they will save much more in fuel costs than the price of a days training and therefore can afford to pay the mortgage.

The environment will benefit, because as people drive more efficiently, there will be less pollutants sent into the atmosphere. If we could only stop Golfers, and VW golf owners drivelling on, we could close the hole in the ozone layer. Fossil fuels will last much longer, giving us time to find an alternative to nuclear. The government will lose a little in fuel duty, but will be quid’s in from the NHS savings and the Extra VAT they can charge on the training courses.

Finally, we can reduce the unemployment lines dramatically, as we will need millions of new Driver trainers
Hmmm, think I’m onto something here, might stand for a seat in the European Parliament, where I can wangle myself onto  a Quango to oversee this, it, will mean lots of fact finding trips to Jamaica, Seychelles, Fiji and other such motoring hot spots.

It’s a difficult job, but somebody’s got to do it!

Redundancy built in part one.

I must just be unlucky I guess. Its not always been like this, I mean when I was young, things were so much easier. If you bought a record player, you got a Dansett Popular, a standard player for the modern family. On it you could stack up to 6 singles at a time, and each one would drop down neatly onto the turntable, the needle arm would glide across and gently lower the needle onto the record, where you would sit and listen in perfect mono to such wonders as jailhouse rock, good golly miss molly, Peggy sue, or how much is that doggy in the window. Of course memory is a funny thing, it was never really like that, you would stack 6 records on the changer, and switch it on, and watch as the record failed to fall onto the turntable, and the needle would try to play a song from the rubber turntable mat. You would reset it, try again, and this time two records would fall together, the needle would drop with a loud crack onto the disc, and the loudspeaker would burst into life with a collection of hisses, snaps, crackles and pops that inspired Kellogg’s to make a breakfast cereal.

I think back over the past 40+ years since I was old enough to earn a wage to buy the latest gadgets, and find myself wondering where it all went wrong. Take the entertainment equipment I purchased that became redundant while I was carrying them out of the shop. I paid a fortune for a quadrophonic Hi Fi stereo system, spent hours positioning the four speakers to get the best sound reproduction, bought all six LP’s that were made in Quadrophonic stereo only to find that it went out of fashion while I was making a cup of tea.

I was the one who also bought an eight track stereo player. Now I was never a fan of the cassette tape. Horrible noisy, hissy things. I would buy the finest quality metal tape, use only Bang & Olufsen record deck, and amplifier, religiously clean the record before I played it, and still, after recording it onto a cassette it sounded like a bunch of snakes trying to sing like Mick Jagger. So I bought an eight track. The sound quality was much better than a cassette, but that was its only advantage, it was too big, you couldn’t record on it, and you could only buy the same six albums on eight track, as you could get in quadrophonic stereo.

Next came the “pocket” calculator. I bought one of the first Texas instruments portable “pocket” calculators. It would just about fit into a large pocket, but was so heavy, you would walk with a limp for days afterwards. Plugged in it was great, but the built in rechargeable battery lasted just long enough to type in 77345 7i0, then turn it upside down to display the words “shell oil”

Then along came Sir Clive Sinclair. No, I didn’t buy one of his C5’s, but I did buy a ZX81, complete with 16MB memory extension, and a thermal printer that looked more like a till roll. I  would spend days writing and rewriting BASIC , I would save each command line, then after it was complete, watch my TV burst forth with a dazzling display of multi-colour lines while my “computer” loaded the program. I would then be presented with a black screen, on each side was a small white line and in the centre, a white dot that would move towards the side of the screen, until I moved one of the white lines, or bat as it was known, until it hit the white spot, or ball, back across the screen. Oh what fun we had. I upgraded to a Spectrum, complete with built in cassette player, but I could still only play bloody tennis on it.

Then it was the turn of Video. There were 3 main rivals for the Video standard, VHS, Betamax and video 2000, guess which one I chose? Now video 2000 was by far the best, with reversible tapes lasting twice as long as the other two systems, and far better quality, but a very weak sales team. The European manufacturers tried hard to compete against the Japanese, Philips, Grundig etc., but they just couldn’t sell the product as well as the Asian firms. So, after a year or two of trying to survive with a Video 2000 machine, I went out and bought………………………….a VHS machine! Bet you thought I was going to say Betamax! Then there was the Camcorder, my first one was the size of a small semi detached house. It used full size VHS tapes, gave great pictures, and was used at Christmas, birthdays and special occasions. I still  have an incriminating tape made at my 40^th birthday party, where a lot of my friends and colleagues let their hair down. I’ve been able to blackmail them ever since. Another use of these were “candid” films, you know the ones, made in private, me and the ex-wife tried it once, but after we watched it back once, she immediately tape over it with an episode of home and away.

I took it to Florida so that we could video the kids enjoying a family holiday of a lifetime, After carrying it around all day on my shoulder, I developed a pronounced list to port of 45 degrees. My lasting memory of Florida is a small place, about an inch square, where everything was in black and white.

I went to Red Square.....................it was closed Day 4

I managed to have a late breakfast, again filling my plate so that I would not have to spend my hard earned cash buying food in Moscow. It is possibly one of the most expensive cities in the world. How the ordinary people of the city manage to eat I don’t know.

My friend had left me late the previous evening, the hotel put a curfew on room visitors, and will charge extra after 11pm. As this was my last day, I didn’t want to rush around, so after watching a bit of morning TV, I headed downstairs for my final breakfast.

The maid was still polishing away at the banister. “dobre ootra” I said politely. “Good morning” she replied! I could hear the sound of music coming up from the dining room, the pianist was back. Well at least I would have something nice to look at while I ate. Wrong. My attractive blonde had been replaced by a snooty looking young man, with a pinched nose, a la Kenneth Williams.

I had to book out of the hotel at mid-day, so I packed my bags, and then relaxed for an hour watching star Trek.

“So Mr Spock was ist es?” asked Kirk.

“es ist Lebends kapitän, aber nicht, wie wir es wissen” Replied Spock.

“Bones, können Sie irgend etwas dafür tun?” asked Kirk

“verdammt Sie es Jim, ich bin ein Arzt, nicht ein Mechaniker” replied Doctor Mc Coy.

At noon, I paid my dues, booked out, then left my luggage at reception. My flight was in the evening, and my taxi was not due for several hours, so I took a walk around the area outside the hotel.

I walked in to Petrovsky Park, home of the stadium of Dynamo Moscow, one of the city’s major football clubs. Dynamo was formed in 1923 and is the oldest football club in Russia. It has played in the country’s top league for all its life, but as yet has not won the current premier league title; its highest position is second. Its most famous player was the Russian Goal keeping legend Lev Yashin, voted the best goal keeper of the 20^th century, no mean feat, beating the likes of Gordon Banks and Peter Shilton. There is a statue of the legend at the Dynamo stadium. The stadium from the outside. Looks a bit run down, like it had seen better days, although the team were still in the top flight of Russian football.

After a couple of hours walking in the summer sun, I made my way back to the hotel, crossing several major dual carriageways and main roads. All were busy with a strange mix of old ex-soviet trucks being passed by modern Scania and Volvos. Audi and Mercedes cars passing old Ladas and Zils.

My taxi arrived on time. It was not the young man in the blacked out 4x4, they had tried to impress me when I arrived, but now that I was leaving they sent an old man, roll up dangling from the side of his mouth, driving a Russian built Gaz. It was my first experience of any Russian car other than a Lada, and first impressions weren’t favourable, its design was 1980’s except for a slightly more modern looking radiator grill, and the paintwork and finish was not up to the standard of European cars, it did however compare favourably with Rover. The interior was old fashioned, but it was quite comfortable and spacious.

The driver took my case, and this is where the problem started. He said something to me in Russian, which I took to be “what time do you need to be at the airport?” what he actually asked was “what time does your flight leave the Airport?”  I answered the first question. He looked at me, looked at his watch, looked at the traffic, then a look of terror came over his face, as he picked my case up, launched it into the boot from about 20 feet,  then proceeded to push me urgently towards the rear door. We took off before I had time to shut the door, with smoke pouring from the tyres, and forced our way out into the Moscow rush hour. Now Moscow rush hour is something to experience, no one gives way, there are now rules, it is survival of the fittest. Junctions are constantly grid locked, and you dare not leave an inch of space between you and the car in front, because if you do, a dozen cars and trucks will try to take the space. My driver fortunately was a past master at negotiating the traffic. He used any space available to advance, two wheels on the kerb, across garage forecourts, we took every short cut known to man. He was constantly on his mobile, getting updates from his taxi colleagues about the state of the traffic on this road, or that one. I swear we drove through a car wash at one stage, although most of the time I was hiding my eyes. Eventually we escaped the central Moscow traffic, and joined the exodus of city workers heading for the suburbs on an urban dual carriageway. Each side had 3 lanes, and my driver made use of each one, changing lanes without a signal, putting his quite large executive car into the space vacated by a ford fiesta. We dodged buses as they stopped to drop of workers. In Russia they have a large fleet of minibuses that stop anywhere and everywhere, and at this time of the evening the roads were full of them. As we sped on towards the airport, I watched silently as my driver undertook a Police car making its way through the traffic on blues and twos, I ducked down in the back seat.

Finally we became free of the city traffic, and joined the Motorway towards Domodeyevo airport. The hard shoulders of Russian motorways are not for emergency use, they are for the locals to set up stalls to try and sell produce they have grown on their dacha, or allotment, there were all kinds of fruit, vegetables and various homemade sausages and pies being sold. My driver ignored them; in fact he very nearly cleared a few off the street as he forced his way onwards. Suddenly, without explanation, my driver screeched to a halt on the hard shoulder, he jumped from the car, and ran into the bushes, leaving me sitting in the back seat of a taxi, drivers door open, engine running, in the middle of a foreign country, with no idea where I was. I looked around quickly for any signs of police marksmen trying to apprehend the fleeing criminal that must be in this car breaking all the rules of the road, but could see nothing. After a few minutes of panic, I was relieved to see my driver re-emerge form the bushes, a grin on his face, he made a sign that told me he had needed to answer a call of nature, and we took off once again.

We arrived at the airport 3 hours before my flight was due to leave, but my driver thought it was one hour, I fell out of the car, but not wanting to look weak in front of the driver, I smiled, gave him a big tip, and tried to walk upright towards the terminal, hoping he would disappear before my knees gave way.

I made my way to the British airways check in desk, deposited my bags, got myself a window seat, then made my way through security. Having taken off my shoes and placed them in the tray for scanning, I noticed two things, nobody else was taking their shoes off, and I had a large hole in my right sock, with my big toe sticking out. I pretended to by German. I replaced my shoes, did a quick tour of the duty free shops, picking up a few packs of old Holborn for friends and neighbours, and few bottles of finest Russian vodka for me, then took coffee while I waited for my flight to be called.

I heard the tannoy announce, “British Airways regret the one hour delay to flight BA 879 to London Heathrow. Passengers are requested to wait in the departure area at gate 21” Ah British Airways, making me feel at home already!

If any of you who read this are inspired to take a trip to Russia, then I would  suggest, if you absolutely must see Moscow and red square, make it a weekend ,no more, it is very expensive, and once you have seen the sights, great though they are, and visited the art gallery and the Bolshoi ballet, there is little else to do. If you have a week , then combine Moscow with an overnight train to St Petersburg. If you only have a long weekend, then choose St Petersburg over Moscow, it is a truly magnificent city, as good as any in Europe. Of course if you have a month or more, Start in St Petersburg, take a train to Moscow, then catch the trans-Siberian to Beijing via Ulan Bator, or to Vladivostok. Don’t forget to book time off in St Petersburg, Moscow, Kazan, and Yekaterinburg, to visit the hstoric cities and take in the local culture, and especially take time off in Irkutsk to take in Lake Baikal. It will be the journey of a life time for you, and who knows, we might just bump into each other!

I went to Red Square...............it was closed Day 3

I woke early again. I mean really early, about 5am. It was too early for breakfast, and knowing the price of room service, I wasn’t going to call for a coffee. I switched on the TV and flicked through the channels. Star Trek had moved on, it was now “Die folgende Generation” Mr Data was just saying “Ich bin ein Androide. Ich bin des Gefühls unfähig.”” I am an android, I am incapable of feeling.” Having driven for Tesco, I knew how he felt.

I dozed until breakfast time, then made my way down the strairs. The maid was still polishing the banister. “dobre ootra” she said. I wondered if it was a full time job for her, or if occasionally, she got to polish something else. 

Knowing the prices I was paying for my room, I crammed as much breakfast down me as I could, and set off once again for Red Square. It was open. I walked to the centre and looked all around. I walked along each side in turn. I stood and looked at Lenin’s tomb; I took some snaps of St Basils cathedral, and Gum, the kremlin and the museum at the entrance. I got bored then, it was nice, but a bit of an anti-climax. I wandered out of the square and made my way around the Kremlin wall.

On the opposite side of the road, on the corner of a major roundabout, was what must be one of the smallest churches in the world. It was about big enough for a priest and one parishioner, or two at a push, and as long as they are good friends. There was also a flower border with the word “ Москва” spelled out, all it needed was a floral clock, and I would have thought I was at Margate.

I took a bus tour around the city, including the university, Bolshoi Theatre, and a fantastic war memorial gardens, complete with an exhibition of captured German tanks and guns.

When I returned to Red Square, I made my way into the kremlin, somewhere I would never have dreamed about entering 20 or more years ago. Inside the walls is a small town all on its own, complete with office blocks, churches parks, accommodation and theatre. It was a nice to see it as something more than a government building. The churches all had golden Domes, and ornate decoration. The Kremlin is a series of castles and fortifications, and was first used as the seat of the united Russian Government under Ivan the great back in the 15^th Century. I have to admit, I was impressed with the place.

Once outside, I walked along the side of the Kremlin walls through a park where young Muscovites were enjoying a warm, sunny weekend, playing ball, eating ice creams, and soaking up the sun. I came across the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and the eternal flame. The Russians are justifiably proud of their victory in the “great Patriotic war”. WWII to us. Many millions of Russians died fighting Hitler, My father in law was a hero of the siege of Leningrad, and decorated as a Hero of the Soviet Union. Every year in may they hold a parade through the streets of St Petersburg, where he and his diminishing band of colleagues are given a heroes ovation by young and old. At the eternal flame in Moscow, young cadets from across Russia are selected to stand guard. It is a great honour to be chosen to represent your town or village. I watched the changing of the guard. Not as bombastic as the changing of the guard at Buckingham palace, but a moving ceremony none the less.

Afterwards, I visited my favourite Café where my young, blonde waitress was pleased to see me. She accepted the invitation to join me for the evening entertainment. I thought about suggesting a visit to the Bolshoi Ballet, but the image of sitting in an RDC waiting room for hours, discussing what we did on holiday came into my head. Can you imagine the reaction in a room full of hairy arsed truckers when I say I went to the ballet? I can hear the bottoms shuffling further along the benches away from me already!

We walked in Alexander gardens, a pleasant park next to the Kremlin wall, there is a water feature that is illuminated at night, where children, and adults can climb onto islands containing statues of folk heroes and fairy tale characters. After a few drinks, we made our way back to the hotel. One thing was for certain, there would be no Star trek tonight

I went to red square........it was closed Day 2

I woke early, about 7am Moscow time which was 4am London time. As i had just come from somewhere 8 hours in front of London where it was now 3pm,  my body clock was all over the place, although being an agency truck driver, it was used to doing things at different times of the day. I showered, dressed and made my way down the stairs to breakfast. A young maid was polishing the banister, smiled and wished me “dobre ootra”, good morning in Russian.

The breakfast consisted of fruit, croissants and a selection of cooked items. There was something yellow that resembled scrambled egg, some small sausages, something that looked like crispy streaky bacon, and bread rolls. The waitress bought me coffee, or the Russian equivalent. Tea or “chai” is something the Russians do very well, coffee is not.

 After breakfast I made my way to the nearest metro station and caught the underground into the city centre. The Moscow underground is worth a visit on its own. Many of the central stations are architectural wonders, which leave the likes of London underground looking like a sewer Mayakovskya station is considered an architectural masterpiece. During the cold war, the underground was to be used as nuclear fallout shelters. I spent some time just getting on and off the trains and studying the stations.  

Eventually I arrived at the entrance to Red Square, it was closed. There were a group of soldiers practising for a parade that was due to take place later that day. I decided to take a look at GUM department store. My sister had been studying at Moscow University during the early 90’s, just when the iron curtain came down, and she told me many stories about the lack of any food or products in the shops. GUM was the government run department store that, during the communist regime, had been virtually a monopoly in the city centre. Filling almost the whole length of red Square opposite the kremlin, it was certainly an impressive building. My sister told me of people queuing all day to buy a packet of butter, only to come out with a bath plug, as that was all that was available. My sister lived with a family who had a daughter about the same age, she was invited to visit my parents during term holidays, and on her first visit to Asda, broke down in tears when she saw all the food in the shop. GUM has certainly changed, on entering I found 3 floors of designer shops, names found in Paris, London and Rome. It was full of young women looking for the latest fashions, young men looking for the latest young women, and tourist like myself looking at the prices and walking away!

Outside again I wondered down to the river and boarded a river cruise. We cruised along the river Moscow past the new sports stadium where my team would beat chelski in the champions league final several years later, past the walls of the Kremlin, the bank alongside Gorki Park, the Red October factory, no not the submarine that Sean Connery hijacked, but the famous Russian chocolate factory Krasny Oktyabr . There is still many signs of the old Soviet Union around, many of the riverside apartments had been the homes of the senior party members, and many still bore the red star and CCCP above the doors. Other sights on the river are a Russian space shuttle, never used, and an impressive statue of Peter the Great, tsar of Russia. 

After the cruise I took a metro to see the Lubyanka, home of the KGB and famed prison where captured spies were sent to be tortured by fiendishly evil doctors using truth serum and pulling fingernails, or so we were led to believe in the cold war days. It was originally built as the head office of All Russia Insurance company in the 1890’s. Today it looks just like any other city office block. I didn’t stay long. I moved on to Gagarin Square to see the monument to Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space. I remember as a young boy, hearing of his epic journey, and watching pictures on our little black and white TV, Gagarin was one of my boyhood hero’s and it was his flight that really got me interested in space.

I headed back to Red Square, it was still closed, as was the Kremlin. I found a café for lunch, and was pleased that the young waitress was keen to practise her English on me. I ordered a sandwich, and a bottle of Kvass, ah Kvass, how to describe it. It had been hoped that it would be the Russian rival to Coca Cola, however it was always going to be a none starter. Looking like coke, black and bubbly, my first impression was favourable then I tasted it, made from fermented black bread and yeast, it had a taste I can only describe as indescribable! My new found friend told me all about the history of Kvass.

In St Basils cathedral that afternoon the Russian Orthodox patriarch Alexy II was performing a special ceremony, Me, being unaware of this, walked in right in the middle of it. The Russian churches are full of colour and life, for a religion that survived 70 + years of repression it managed to keep many of its treasures intact. Russian churches are some of the most spectacular in the world, and St basils on the edge of red Square is one of the finest.

In the evening I returned to the café with two objectives, one to get a good meal and the other to try and talk the waitress into joining me in my hotel room. I managed the first, but alas was unsuccessful in the later, so retired to my room alone. I switched on the TV.

“Sieh, was Sie dafür tun können, Bones” Said Captain Kirk.

“Verdamt Sie es Jim, ich bin ein Arzt nicht eine Kohlenbergarbeiter” Replied Mc Coy.

Come back Hyacinth Bucket, all is forgiven!