I am what Evelyn Waugh would have called a "close student" of traffic. I am a print addict, too. Stuck for reading matter when driving, I sample whatever text is on offer on the road: on the backs of cars, vans and lorries. I mull over every message, including those urging me to find God, protect birds or consider the sex appeal of the driver in front. I follow those who claim to have Jesus on board and those who advise (or warn?) other drivers about their babies. What does "Baby on board" actually mean? Drive as dangerously as you like, kill grown-ups if you must, just as long as you steer clear of my baby? One day, I will devise a yellow sign which reads "Adult on board" with a symbol of my husband upon it.
Now there is a new text to occupy my thoughts (or perhaps not so new, but more ubiquitous) as I inch my way from Highbury Corner to High Barnet: the lorries and vans that have "Well driven?" or "How am I driving?" on their dusty backs. For those unacquainted with such vehicles, they come complete with a telephone number so that, if you wish to make a comment, you may do so.
I have been speculating about this bogus pretence at conscientious communication for some time. I have imagined ringing up the numbers: "Hello, I just wanted to say how splendidly I thought your driver (reg R239 FFG) handled the Highbury roundabout. He was in charge of a long vehicle and I was especially impressed by the way he swung the tail end right round without crashing into anyone. Congratulations to him!" Alternatively: "I am ringing to let you know I didn't think the driver of heavy goods vehicle (L425 GYT) was up to it. When did he pass his test?"
I discussed the matter with my eldest son, Leo, and we decided to do some research. He volunteered to make a note of telephone numbers, scribbling them down on bits of litter floating about the car, and also to try and catch the registration numbers of the drivers apparently so keen to have their driving assessed. Leo got the details of a Sainsbury's lorry (M911 CGF) and its telephone number: 0800 225 533. He also noted a lorry with "How am I driving?" on it and the telephone number 0800 101 400. Unfortunately, the driver was going too fast for us to get his registration number.
This morning I dialled the first number and a human being answered. A good thing. I had expected a recorded message complete with instructions to "press the star key on your push button phone." The woman sounded bored, as if talking in her sleep. She asked for my name, my postcode, the driver's registration number and the branding on the side of his vehicle. And when was the incident? In January, I explained, adding feebly that I had planned to ring earlier. Where did I see the vehicle? At the top of the Holloway Road. Was that a residential area? And what did I want to report? I told her I just wanted to say how considerately he was driving. If there was an edge of surprise in her voice, she kept it under control. She said my message would be passed on to the driver and that I would get a letter acknowledging my call within three weeks.
I then rang the second number (the van that got away) and spoke to Stephen Kneen of Drive Care and asked him about the company. He said it was four and a half years old, that 50,000 vehicles subscribed to it (including Tesco and BP). Drive Care receives 6,000 calls a month, 8 per cent compliments and the balance complaints. Kneen says it is both a way to show the public that you care (about driving) and a "risk management tool" for fleet owners.
"Well driven?" is only the beginning. There are complaint opportunities everywhere. In the last few months, I have been invited to fill in questionnaires by my hairdresser, my garage, my son's school and a local pizzeria. Well cut? Well run? Well taught? Well cooked? Filling in the census was restful because it did not seek any opinion from me at all. Is all this soliciting opinion a good thing? I want to complain about the false concern that masks indifference and emasculates complaint, robbing it of its immediacy.
Currie Motors, the Toyota garage in East Barnet, is quite smarmy in its pleas for criticisms. Its walls are covered with improving texts (the modern equivalent of Victorian samplers) such as: "We don't hire people who have to be told to be nice. We hire nice people," and "Before you say no to a customer, stop. Think. Is there any way you can say yes?" and "Believe that nothing is gained by winning an argument and losing a customer." This is, of course, pseudo courtesy. When I actually complained, I got into an argument faster than you can say "spare tyre."
Like the "well driven" notices, these manufactured statements of intent have nothing to do with reality. But perhaps there is something to be learnt from all this. There must be something I can borrow for personal use? I am toying with the idea, the next time I go to a party, of wearing a large sign: "How do you like my dress?"
Well written? (020 7255 1287)
