Road sense, or no sense?

I spent most of this morning reading driving manuals. None of this driving business seems to be sinking in, so I’m trying to do as much homework as possible. I’d love to have my own transport, and the ability to drive it. I’m sick of sitting on buses that are driven by lunatics and frequented by at least one fat ugly sweatbox with greasy hair. Especially when that sweatbox is me…
I’m considering a change of instructor. No offence to young Kathryn, but I need someone who knows what they’re talking about, and every time I ask her a question she has to reach into the glove compartment for a guide book.
I’m tempted to take advantage of Ted’s offer to share his driving knowledge and experience, but with respect to Ted, he’s a retired Army driver with a terrible memory and he hasn’t been near a steering wheel in a decade. It’s kind of him, but I’d like to get through to the driving test without maiming or crippling any pedestrians, or killing myself in a collision, and I’m not convinced that could happen under Ted’s tutelage.
It all just seems so confusing. It’s bad enough trying to change gear while checking your mirror when you’re as unco-ordinated and clumsy as I am, but what’s all this rubbish about stopping distances and braking patterns? I’ve got four A-levels and a chemistry degree, and I couldn’t work them out with a slide rule and a bloody blackboard. I think the safest, cheapest, sanest way to deal with driving is to keep away from cars for eternity.

RC 21-4-09
1430 BST