Caroline doesn’t seem to be
very aware of the speed she is driving when she is behind the wheel of my
car. Maybe she is more conscious
of her rate of progress when she drives her own car but twice now I have found
her to be completely oblivious to the speed we are travelling when she drives
mine.
The first time I knew of this
problem was in September 2010. I
mentioned it in "Not Funny". We were on an empty, dry, straight section
of the M6 toll road very early on a bright Saturday morning. Caroline was driving and I saw that the
speedometer was showing just less than 110 mph.
“The manual says that this car
will do a hundred and fifty five,” I said. “Do you want to give it a try?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Caroline, “Even though it’s a toll road, there’s
still a seventy miles an hour speed limit.”
We’ve just spent a week with
Matthias and Joanna and their two boys in the Medoc region of France, northwest of Bordeaux. Joanna is Caroline’s sister and yesterday
we drove home from there to Wavendon.
As it is 690 miles by road the journey
took us nearly 15 hours and we took turns driving. Although it was tiring, it was straightforward and there
were no problems on the clear French autoroutes.
All was straightforward, that
is, until the last 13 miles. The
last section of the M1 before our turnoff has been undergoing upgrades for the
last decade or so and for no discernable reason there is still a 50mph speed
limit.
We were crawling along on
cruise control in the inside lane and vehicle after vehicle was going past
us. I was feeling weary and
uncomfortable and wanted to get home.
I looked over at the speedometer and saw that it was set at about
35.
“For God’s sake, speed it up!” I
shouted. “Why are you going so slow?”
“I’m doing 54,” Caroline said,
icily. She was obviously beginning
to feel very tired too.
“No you’re not and how can you
be so precise?”
“Because it says so there,” she
snapped, jabbing her index finger at the dashboard.
“That’s the outside
temperature,” I sighed, wearily.
“Oh, so it is.”
