Two years ago I tried to become a lorry driver. Everyone told me it wasn’t the right time, and I should have done it five years ago. ‘It’s a mug’s game now,’ they said. ‘You’ll be sitting around waiting for a job.’
Still, everything I ever did was five years past its prime – buying a house, visiting Prague, becoming a stand-up comedian; all these things were a joyful wild west five years before they occurred to me, apparently, so I wasn’t bothered about hoovering crumbs. I’d moved to Devon, the circuit had forgotten me and I needed something to do. Besides, I really love driving.
Driving for me means freedom, but it was hard won. I failed my standard UK test twice and wondered if there was a country where passing is easier. After all, you could pass in many countries and just get an international carnet. So I retook the test in Florida; all I had to do was drive around a car park. I ran over a cone but that doesn’t really matter in Florida. Besides, I’d failed the test the day before. ‘You can’t just keep coming back,’ said the examiner. ‘I’m passing your ass.’
My ass consolidated its victory with the theory test. A small Israeli guy who gave me my one lesson assured that he would tell me all the possible answers in a hypnotic tone of voice on the way to the Fort Lauderdale test centre. As soon as I passed, in ten minutes, he asked if I’d like flying lessons too(sadly, since 9/11 foreigners can no longer get US driving or pilot licences). I drove a huge van to Las Vegas, where I drove an enormous bus for a hostel, to and from the Golden Nugget all day in return for accommodation.
So I was fairly certain, after 20 years on the road, that I could drive an HGV. But immediately the idea became a gauntlet of spivs: enquiring for HGV certification on the internet results in a deluge of cowboy companies and intermediaries phoning up to sell fast-pass courses at scalpers’ rates.
After a lot of research I selected the best-reviewed local firm. Nobody was singing their praises, exactly, but one review said they were ‘good for a laugh’, so I forked over the hilarious sum of £1800 for a seven-day intensive course with test.
The lorry was a old wreck. On the fifth day the drive axle fell off; luckily in a layby rather than the A-road where it could have killed us. The instructor, no longer good for anything approaching a laugh, blamed me and the other learner for not driving it properly, which may have had something to do with us being unable to drive it properly.
So the intensive weeklong course had a ten-day interruption; I returned just for one lesson and a test. This was in a totally different lorry with the controls in different places. And by this time of course I and the other lad had forgotten everything. Neither of us passed. The £1800 wasn’t even tax deductible with no job at the end, although I’m advised that if I do a comedy routine about it, it could be.
It’s not unusual for HGV drivers to spend their first year of work repaying tuition fees, and I can’t be the only person wondering if it’s easier to get certified abroad, as, er, foreign drivers do. I didn’t see rigour in our system, just sharp practices and unhindered opportunity for those who man the gates. The time to open an HGV training school is right now.
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