Thinking out loud

When I was in my early 20s, I went on a 'better driving' course. Today you can claim something similar by whizzing past a speed camera at 37mph but I volunteered for this one. Six one-hour theory sessions with a police officer and an overhead projector, then a high-speed Sunday morning trip up the A23 in a squad car. I was most impressed. Until that point I'd never been in a vehicle with a leather interior.

Our instructor gave us a particularly useful tip from his own training. He'd been encouraged to commentate on his journey in order to increase his awareness. "There's a child on a bicycle ahead. They seem unsteady. The van at the junction may pull out." Not only can this technique improve your driving, it also offers an all-too-rare opportunity to impersonate Murray Walker. Just make sure the windows are closed.

I mention this commentary process because my mother's started doing it. Unfortunately, it's not when she's driving. We're sitting in a coffee shop when a couple of young mothers arrive at the table next to us. They park their pushchairs alongside. "Why does she need something enormous like that?", mum asks the room. "It's like a four-by-four." Unlike an episode of Miranda, no-one laughs. Admittedly the pushchair is relatively rugged-looking but that's probably because it's been designed not to sever fingertips or collapse spontaneously, neither of which were guaranteed by the prams of my youth.

On stage, the soliloquy is a perfectly acceptable dramatic device. In real life, it isn't. The novelty of innocent children describing their bowel movements wears off pretty quickly. I'll happily listen to TV programmes with Sir David Attenborough or David Bellamy explaining their steps through the undergrowth. I really don't want the same level of detail when I'm settling down to a skinny latte and a toasted bagel. Worse still, it might encourage other people to start doing the same thing. It would be like becoming telepathic but without any of the secrecy. Like a truth serum that everyone takes.

Let's face it, there are things that are best left unsaid. So if you hear me ranting in Tesco about the state of the world, please stop me unless I'm actually talking to a real person or wearing a mobile phone headset. And as for my writing... well, that's just between the two of us, isn't it?

First published on Viva Lewes 23rd May 2014: www.vivalewes.com