Driving

I hadn’t realised that my driving style was genetically determined, but I realised how much viability this theory had two years ago when I got to a town in the time the Swedish guy told me it would take (this was 3/4hr faster than Graham thought).  I think that driving style has evolved to bounce off elks, before Volvo was invented (and will now be revived now that they have been compromised by foreign buy-outs). Ironically, just before the crash I was driving within the guidelines (rules, whatever).  Such is life. 

There is one thing that I have absorbed from the UK and that’s braking distances.  Marvellous things, but if you thought people don’t keep to them in the UK, they don’t exist at all here.  So when a great big, galumping lorry is parked up your backside at 100km/hr, they are not being aggressive, really!   I say 100km, the speed limit is viewed as being a guideline, as are the road markings, indicators and other bits and pieces someone insists on. 

Of course, I shouldn’t make generalisations.  The rest of the country consists of little old ladies or chaps, and now, me.  We drive at 30km below the speed limit and towards the middle of the road.  We also hold the steering wheel at the correct position very, very hard, but, unlike the UK, we don’t hunch over the wheel, we sit very upright and posturally correct.  After all, there is no need to relax standards, is there!

There is something that makes you realise that you are in an alien place and that is the behaviour of the drivers in the towns.  The first time, we were on the kerb looking to cross the road (main, mark you) and the cars stopped.  We looked up the street and down the street, for little green flashing men, for prone zebras, for some other sort of road sign or flashing light from the sky, but nothing, absolutely nothing. We looked at the driver, he looked at us, we looked at the driver, he looked at us.  After about half an hour of this, we crossed the road and he continued on his way.  In the interest of scientific enquiry, we tried crossing the next road.  The same thing happened with slightly less bemusement, this time with a Merc!!!!  Gosh.....  So I have been forced to take a more Graham approach to things (when he had a white van, he used to let people out.  It’s well worth doing for the look on their face alone!). 

Swedish drivers don’t get so het up about things.  I haven’t heard one horn honked since we’ve been here, which is no mean feat, given the number of times I've forgotten I don't need to drive London-stylee and dive out into a 2cm gap.

Lower your blood pressure and drive in Sweden!