DRIVING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

There has been a lot of lofty talk of late about alcohol limits, milligrams and breathalysers. Even the venerable Kevin Myers has been getting his silvery ringlets in a knot on the issue. My personal position is unequivocal. It is simply impossible to drink and drive. You’re bound to spill some.

Blowing into a plastic bag for a cop at the side of the road does nothing but prove that some people will do anything they’re told to do when they’re drunk. Similarly, I’m not against the giving of urine samples, I just don’t think all that time and money should be spent analysing the blessed stuff. It’s no good the authorities telling you how much piss there was in your evening’s intake of beer after you’ve actually drunk it.

Anyway, believe me, if a citizen is capable of passing water into a test tube, then they’re sober enough to drive. Some things take real skill. And, whatever else you might say, nobody ever ruined their new patent leather shoes by falling asleep at the wheel.

As always in Ireland, the real sources of trouble are never tackled. Why, for instance, isn’t there a massive national crackdown on those who pray and drive? I’ve been with motorists who’ve been reciting The Angelus while pelting along a dual carriageway at 70 mph or more. I know it’s a boring load of old twaddle but there’s no reason for them to kill themselves just because they have to say it again in six hours time.

If you believe that prayer is a form of communication with the creator of the Universe then shouldn’t you at least have the courtesy to pull in to a lay-by so that He can make out what you’re saying? As for this Catholic custom of taking both hands off the steering wheel to bless yourself when you pass a church, there are joyriders in prison for less. No wonder some of us need a few drinks to settle our nerves before we get into our cars.

Mobile phone users are another menace to road safety. I’m not one of those begrudgers who argues that most young executives only pretend to be talking on their mobiles while zooming around the city streets. I believe that there genuinely is someone at the other end of their phones. Just look at the amount of business that the 0800 numbers do.

Can we seriously expect these people to keep their minds on their Highway Code while they’re lost in a reverie with SKIRT UP, KNICKERS DOWN, TOUCH MY PANTIES or MY BUM’S SORE? Quite frankly, for drivers with only one free hand I think they do very well.

Ultimately, though, the single most dangerous category of car handler known to humanity is the teetotaller. Unburdened by lives worthy of the name, these sad sacks are never actually in a hurry to get any place. Therefore, they start to dawdle, dally and tarry.

And, nothing will get you killed quicker on a busy motorway than dawdling, dallying and tarrying. Especially, if there’s a bloke like me behind you, completely shit-faced on vin ordinaire, and endeavouring to simultaneously overtake you and give you the finger.

If you’re sober while in the driving seat, you’ll inevitably start worrying about rules of the road, appropriate speed limits and staying in the same lane for more than thirty seconds at a time. This takes your mind off the important stuff like remembering which of the pedals is the accelerator and which is the brake.

Another consideration that usually goes completely unremarked upon in this whole debate is the simple fact that drunk people are uncommonly lucky. We fall down but we don’t even get a scratch. We talk forty shades of bullshit but we’re not the ones who have to listen to it. We have sex with the most repellent person on the planet but we don’t remember a thing about it the next morning. And, hey, at least, we have sex.

If you’re going to flip your car over, smash into a brick wall and go flying through the windscreen then you had better be feeling extremely lucky and that means being very drunk indeed.

What do the Kaliber krowd have for luck? A rabbit’s foot dangling from the rear view mirror. Listen, if it didn’t prove all that fortunate for the hapless bunny from whom it was severed in the first place, it certainly ain’t gonna save your sorry neck.

So, let’s turn the tables, but try not to knock over the drinks. Those who abstain and drive are the real social lepers. They should be made account for their crimes and their reckless endangerment of life. They should be taunted cruelly and ridiculed until they can stand it no more.

Then, the least we can do is offer them a lift home.