The one thing which unites all motorists, irrespective of social standing, political or religious views, colour or creed - even
opinions on DSG gearboxes
- is that we all believe we are better drivers than we actually are. I know I do. That's why, on a quiet stretch of the A23, late at night, I got caught driving 7mph over the speed limit. I knew I was good for the extra speed, even if Sussex police thought otherwise. It's not exactly the crime of the century, is it? I was more annoyed I got nicked rather than shouldering any guilt for breaking the law - and I guess that's how many of us feel when the Notice of Intended Prosecution lands on our doormat. We're not interested in the Road Traffic Act we've contravened, all we want to know is how fast, how many points and what's the fine. A momentary lack of concentration from our finely honed sixth sense to spot a speed camera from half-a-mile away had failed us and now we are left to pay the price for our minor misdemeanour.
I was given the choice; three points and a £60 fixed-penalty fine or, and wait for it, pay 85 quid and attend a speed awareness course, with no endorsements. It was a no-brainer. Just like the other 53 per cent of speeding motorists who opt for the speed awareness course, so did I.
And then on to the day in question. None of us wanted to be there. We didn't need to give the reason why we had all been gathered together in a makeshift classroom, like a group of naughty children kept behind for after-school detention, we all knew. We got caught speeding.
We hear it enough but do we listen?
Our lecturers were a male/female duo tag-team, taking it in turn to front the Powerpoint presentation. Julie, who reminded me of the Matt Lucas character, Marjorie Dawes, the patronising leader of the Fatfighters slimming club, kicked the proceedings off. With a sunny smile and no sincerity she gleefully informed us we'd be there for 'approximately' four hours. That's four hours and 85 bloody quid I'd never see again, and in the company of a woman who mimed inverted commas with her fingers. Anyway. I was there, and before Marjorie started her evangelical sermon about the evils of speed she did mention that unless we stayed to the bitter end we'd fail the course, our details passed to the police, we'd receive a £60 fine, and the three points. Whether I liked it or not, she had me by the short and curlies.
But that was it, no written exam, no driving test, just a lost Saturday afternoon spent listening to something I knew already. I once interviewed Andy Green, the holder of the World Land Speed record, and he was very much alive. So speed obviously doesn't kill. Admittedly, coming to an abrupt halt won't do your internal organs much good, but that's just common sense. Hey-ho, the coffee was free and I didn't need permission to go to the loo. "These sessions are run by the National Speed Awareness Course," Marj told us, "a non-profit making organisation which has a £20million turnover, all from receivable fines, and run in conjunction with local authority road safety departments and overseen by their respective police authorities." My eyelids were getting heavy, her well-rehearsed script draining.
Just a few extra mph and back to school
Andrew, the other half of the double-act, took over. He didn't need to tell us he was a retired traffic cop, you just knew it by looking at his military stance and highly polished shoes. When not eulogising over the benefits of curbing an enthusiastic right foot, he's also an advanced driving instructor, like Marjorie. However, he was a lot more engaging than the leader of the Fatfighers club. Maybe Marjorie was his warm-up act? Either way, he presented the facts to us in a manner that didn't patronise. With over 6,000 speed cameras dotted across the country the odds are one-in-five drivers will get caught for speeding, and we were that one, while the other four got away with it, and he sort of sympathised with us.
"What happens if you get caught speeding in the next three years?" He asked the apathetic group in front of him. But before any of us could muster the energy to speak he answered his own question. "I'll tell you", he said, while finding a clean piece of paper on the flip-chart. With black marker pen to hand, he readied himself. "You'll get a fixed penalty and three points". He then wrote the very same at the bottom of the blank sheet of paper. "And then if you get caught again?" He surveyed the room, pointed to the heavily pregnant woman who had earlier confessed to being 2mph over the speed limit. "You get more points and another fine", he again answered his own question and wrote it just above his last jottings. This went on, exploring at length the consequences speeding can bring, the highlights then written above the last. Before long, and in six easy stages, the list is neared the top of the paper. We'd gone from a laughable three points and fine to disqualification, and that was "if we're lucky". Points seven to 10 covered injury, death and jail. And if it was injury or death, how would our family feel if it was us, but worst still, how would we feel if we did it to someone else.
Could education be the more subtle answer?
Cynicism to one side, and as much as it pains me to write this, the NSAC ideology is quite sound; it wants to solve the speeding problem rather than just manage it by dishing out points and fines. Not everyone is eligible to attend and even though it's meant to be a national scheme not every county has adopted it yet. Scotland doesn't run it all. Even those counties which have signed-up still have the flexibility to adapt it as they see fit, as long as it conforms to NSAC guidelines - so not every course is the same, either. Offenders are only offered places if their speed falls within 10 per cent + 2mph to 10 per cent + 9mph of the limit. For example; the tolerance level of a 30mph zone is actually 35mph before prosecution, but using the NSAC formula, anything over that but less than 40.5mph could qualify for the course, just as I did.
Did they succeed in converting me? Well, the flip-chart exercise about maiming or killing somebody else really struck home and I do now find myself checking my speed more regularly than before, so I guess they did. Then again, when I gave up smoking I was this resolute to begin with, and then failed miserably. The only difference this time is that I now realise if I fail I could die, or worse still spend another four hours with the Gruesome Twosome. Either way that's a good enough reason for me to slow it down a bit.