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I used to drive all the time. I would take the car to work even when I lived only five minutes’ walk from the office using the ‘I might need the car during the day’ justification, regardless of the fact that I had use of the company car.

Regardless of my previous driving history I am also a lazy driver. I own an automatic car. No need for pesky gear changes in heavy traffic when the engine is programmed to do it for you.

In recent years though, I have not driven a great deal. After leaving behind almost all my worldly possessions, including my beloved Falcon, I embarked on a twelve month trek around Western Europe, during which time I never once sat behind the wheel of a vehicle powered by an internal combustion engine. I learnt how to ride a bike again (the old adage is bullshit! It’s not just like riding a bike, especially after five pints of Belgian lager!). Since my return I have not retrieved my vehicle from Queensland and as such I’ve rarely had the opportunity to drive often - until very recently.

Enter, stage right, the guy who has not used a clutch for almost ten years! Picture the scene my dear friends. Punt Road, peak hour traffic, 8:15am, severely hung-over, girl in passenger seat, severely hung-over and running severely late for work, and your narrator in the driver’s seat battling a clutch like no other clutch I’ve had to battle before.

It’s almost embarrassing to admit that I’ve always had distaste for manual cars because I always thought there was an easier way to pass time in peak hour traffic that didn’t involve worrying if the fuckwit in the Mercedes behind you was too close and if you fucked up the start at the lights he might rear end you.

Let me say right here I fucking hate hill starts in a manual car. I’m not good at them and don’t like doing them. So sue me and throw me out of the blokes club!

That said, the first car I owned about 150 years ago in the mid 90’s was a manual and I will admit that I used to thrash that little thing around the streets of Cairns with little regard for either the vehicle or the traffic around me. It was a tiny little hatchback (Honda or Suzuki or something like that) and I enjoyed flying around corners and zipping around traffic in it. I think it helped that, as a city, Cairns is fairly flat and I didn’t have to worry too much about all that hill start rubbish that can still trouble me to this day. In following years I’ve had few opportunities to drive manual cars and usually, when I have, they have been big tanks with heavy clutches and no power.

Since that fateful Tuesday (or was it Wednesday? Thursday? They all seem the same these days!) morning I’ve had many an opportunity to restore my battle with that dreaded third pedal and I believe I’m starting to gain the upper hand.

Unfortunately it has been a battle that has caused much pain and embarrassment along the way. Stalling three times on the ramp into the Acland St Coles car park with two cars behind me wasn’t fun. Stalling at the corner of Barkly and Grey with a bank of traffic behind me while we had the green arrow wasn’t fun. Constantly taking off from the lights with the shift in third rather than first and wondering where the engines guts have disappeared too hasn’t been great. Bunny hopping constantly at green lights because I couldn’t work out the clutch release point and had the vehicle over-revved hasn’t been fun.

Then we come to a fateful day! April 16, 2009! Once again severely hung-over and wanting nothing more than to down a beer and go back to bed for another four hours I was called into action to once again tackle peak hour traffic. My new found clutch skills served me well and there were no bunny hops, there was no stalling and there were almost precise gear changes as I guided my passenger on her way to the train station.

We now have a situation where the actual owner of the vehicle in question rarely gets a chance to drive it because I’m having too much fun racing around St Kilda and Elwood in it, and five nights a week fighting through peak hour traffic on Punt Road to get to work in Jolimont on time. After the initial nervousness and seeming inability to operate it successfully that little blue car with the sports engine is now a source of enjoyment and I don’t fear that infernal third pedal any longer.

That is, of course, until I get into a car with a completely different fucking clutch release point and I start the process all over again!

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