The Department for Transport has proposed a graduated licence scheme for newer drivers as they’re more likely to be involved in an accident. The measures include restricting novice drivers to driving in daylight hours. They’re also proposing a minimum age for passengers.
It all sounds as tediously sensible as you’d expect from the Department for Transport, which is the sexier cousin of the Department for Work and Pensions but is positively dowdy compared with the rippling muscles and aviators of the Ministry of Defence, and a full-on nerd when compared with my favourite department, the Ministry of Sound.
Newer drivers tend to be younger drivers, so this policy change is going to affect them the hardest. When I was young, my car was everything to me. It was a red and white Citroën 2CV and instead of being able to transport a basket of eggs across a ploughed field unbroken (weird brag, France, but each to their own), it would mainly transport giddy teenagers to the local beach for parties. Yes, the speedometer only went up to 60, and yes the heater was as effective as a hotel hairdryer, but this car was a lifeline, not to mention also a place to have sex. So multifunctional.
Growing up on Anglesey, north Wales, we had the luxury of stunning scenery and a community spirit, but that was somewhat offset by transport services more infrequent than my teenage period. Driving at 17 was the difference between having a job and not, as well as allowing me to socialise (camping overnight in a field while drinking cider and playing Green Day on an acoustic guitar – badly) with my far-flung mates. Isolation is a huge problem in rural communities and a car allowed me to grow up in a group of loving friends. We were all reliant on the three drivers in our social group to get us around, driving our friends to cultural events (sounds better than illegal raves), university open days and, if we were feeling really spicy, Liverpool.
As the area’s primary industry is tourism, most jobs you could get as a teenager were in hospitality, which meant you stayed at work until the families from Manchester on the nearby caravan park were ready to stop drinking Soave. Not only were the buses infrequent, they didn’t run until 2am, which could be when you finished your shift. For so many of us a car meant being able to work and afforded us an independence – financially and socially. I saved up the money from my job and was able to pay for my accommodation in university with it. If I didn’t have that money, I wouldn’t have been able to go, would never have discovered the glory of Super Noodles and fishbowls, and wouldn’t be working my dream job now.
Please also spare a thought for these teenagers who would become completely reliant on their parents to pick them up from gigs. There is no bigger buzzkill when you leave a gig, giddy and full of adrenaline, than when the first face you see upon leaving is your stony-faced mother blasting Michael Bolton out the car.
Driving at night in the country is easier. We specialise in blind corners and single-track winding roads. In the daytime you crawl around these and honk your horn hoping no one is coming the opposite way. At night headlights let you know if someone is coming the other way or – also useful – if there are doggers in the lay-by.
The real peril of driving at night is people with weak eyesight. Now, I’m not saying they’re all old people, but my anecdotal evidence from driving behind cars weaving around like a sports personality on Strictly is that they are all 100% old people. Driving at night is more dangerous because light is limited, drivers are more likely to be tired and we have yet to enforce my proposed curfew on baby boomers. None of this is the fault of new drivers, and if you stop them driving at night you stop them working and most importantly, having sex in their cars. Come on Department for Transport, don’t cockblock kids from the countryside: they’re our future.
• Kiri Pritchard-McLean is a standup comedian and writer
