Patience and the Idiot Behind the Wheel

A Scene in Bucolic Cheshire

Accidents are exactly that, and some are caused by avoidable human error. In bucolic Cheshire, where the roads are pleasant and everyone drives with the abandon of suburban, carefree distraction, I happened upon a scene.

A fire engine stood with lights flashing, and as the details began to make sense, I saw two cars involved in a collision, with a tow-away truck arriving to cart one of them away. The police had cordoned off the road; in fact, there was no thoroughfare. Cars were being diverted further up the road, except for residents of the area.

Surveying the Wreckage

I did not tarry. As another tow-away truck navigated the roadblock, I noted the cars were a wreck, and could surmise from my observation who might have been at fault. One car had been accessing a busy road, and the driver's judgement must have deserted him; he was not fast enough to cross the oncoming lane to turn into the road as another car approached from the right.

There would not have been enough time for the other car to react with a sudden stop or a swerve. The result: a crash, fenders ruined, airbags deployed, and one foolish act becoming the inconvenience of many.

Reflections on Patience and Policing

I have always opined that the speed and manoeuvrability of a car present many opportunities for patience; but you only need an idiot behind the wheel for a vehicle to become a weapon of catastrophic consequences.

Yet, for all the unfortunate interactions I have had with the police before, I was persuaded that their helpfulness on this occasion was commendable.

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Driving confidence

Driving ahead

They say a horse can sense the fear and nervousness of a rider in the saddle, as I am not a horse rider, I hope the first time I do mount a horse, it will feel that beyond my being a learner, I intend to have a really good time exuding confidence that I am being borne with dignity to the extent that the horse would contribute to the experience.

I found myself observing an interesting stance on the control of the automobile. Interestingly, I do not drive, and I cannot drive because of issues with my eyesight reduced by no conception of stereo vision, I have a lazy eye making judging distance and speed of approach quite difficult.

Bosom driving

A lady literally had her chest on the steering wheel, and that was not because of her ‘Dolly Parton’ assets, she had leaned so far forward, her forearms had no clearance as her hands gripped the top of the steering wheel, every so intently, I could sense the apparent lack of confidence in her driving.

It was like her exercise of caution had become a dangerous safety issue if at any time she needed to execute an emergency manoeuvre. Even a non-driver could see it. I would hate to be a passenger in her car.

Then think of those holding the steering wheel at arm’s length, leant back with both hands on the wheel, probably not monarchs of the road but not shy either.

Driving with Mrs

A husband and wife in the car and relaxed driving, both arms dropped down and the steering wheel lightly held at the bottom. They are probably on a leisurely day out.

Then thinking of the man with an arm on the side window and a finger hooking the side of the steering wheel, the other hand on his lap, maybe his head is bopping to the sound of the loud music in his car. That's self-confidence bordering on the supercilious.

My mother started driving in the 60s, though she cannot drive anymore due to sight degeneration. She was always confident and assertive, even on one instance in the mid-1970s, after she was overtaken by a bus driver, he popped his head out of his window to look as if in disbelief that it was a woman driving and driving so well too.

The driving kings

Yet, the kings of the road are not the fast car aficionados who have taken their middle-life crisis to the Ferrari or Lamborghini without having kept trim that they are forklifted into the car, and they have to crawl out on hands and knees, the indignity, it was a widely shared video on social media.

They are in fact, the truck and coach drivers who through use and practice with their fully aware responsibility of human or goods cargo have with practice and experience mastered both vehicle and route, their steering wheels quite like plates angled slightly over their laps and the manoeuvrability that would leave you amazed.

They are confident and effortlessly so.

Driving from the back seat

But I must end with the backseat drivers of which my father is a prime example and from whom I have acquired so much driving theory, I could well be a professor of theoretical driving. In his professional years in senior management, he had company cars that came with his role, and to the company cars were assigned drivers.

One such driver had before been a truck driver and had the penchant for slightly overshooting a turning before turning in as one would when driving a truck or heavy goods vehicle with the length that defines them, this is far different from the shorter length of a 4-door sedan car, and even from being absorbed in the morning newspaper, the Chief Accountant would thunder from behind, the alert for a driving admonition to the driver began with what essentially was his mannerism, “Look!”

Yes, “Look!”, was the equivalent of Jesus’ statements that began with ‘Verily, verily,’ in the King James Version of the Bible, it was the notification to prick your ears for an incoming pearl of driving wisdom. Whilst sitting in the front passenger’s seat, it was there that I learnt, you do not need to put your foot on the brakes to slow down on a motorway, if you have a lot of stopping distance, just shift your gears downward and enjoy the science of automobile engineering.

I have resisted every urge to be a backseat driver where partners like Steven in the 1990s and Brian presently are concerned, they are very good drivers though and I thank them for having such driving confidence, if I had the eyes for it, their example would have stood me well.

A failing flycatcher

The fly is a spy

One of the nursery rhymes, if it were a rhyme in my childhood, was about the lady who swallowed a fly and then a spider, and many more predators to go after the each subsequent prey she ended up swallowing and for each ingestion, I bet she died, but she seemed to have more lives than a cat. [Wikipedia: There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly]

I have been trying to get at a fly, just one fly and it has been a menace. I do not intend to swallow the fly, but anything that can help me kill it would be a joy beyond measure. Last year, I bought an electronic fly swat racket and that was ambitious of me if I were to recognise my limitations.

Hand-eye mis-coordination

My parents took me for tennis lessons when I was 8 and I was completely useless at the game, I could not even hit the ball, much as my dad was an avid tennis player. Whilst I cannot say I was ever a sportsman, the main reason I could not hit the ball was because I had astigmatism, my right eye was not aligned for stereo vision, though it was not diagnosed until I was in my late 20s.

The lazy eye meant I could not track speed and distance, my awkward handling of the racket in trying to hit the ball was simply with funny eyes, my hand-eye coordination was off. At that age, something could have been done, like my wearing an eye-patch for a period of time to correct the alignment, but in my 20s, the best that could be done was to attempt a correction in the lenses of my glasses.

Not seeing too clearly

However, I was not suddenly going to be a tennis professional once I began to see as I was apparently supposed to see things. My brain had already programmed some compensation into having a dominant eye and I managed the rest by not risking life or limb crossing roads when I was not sure, though there was one time I did cross the Apapa-Oshodi Expressway at the Isolo flyover completely oblivious of the car speeding towards me, everyone screaming and I none the wiser until long after the event. It could have been the end of me.

This eyesight deficiency has also informed my decision not to drive because of the necessity of judging the speed of approaching vehicles and how fast the vehicle is closing the distance between us is one that could make me both a poor and dangerous driver. There is nothing I need to prove in that area, I will not be able to drive. My fly-swatting racket is a dud, not so much because it cannot swat flies, but because somehow, the fly also has a mind of its own, if I do get it, I might just play the lottery too.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXXV

Gilded horses to ride

Looking at another aspect of living in Manchester, on Sundays, I walk a route to church that takes me past the bespoke outfit called Gotham Hotel at 100 King Street and at the doors you see staff bedecked in vintage and sophisticated livery, all buttoned-up, wearing a pillbox hat at times and you can spot a bowler hat too, they look menacing enough to make you feel slightly intimidated by your standing.

Packed outside is a luxury Bentley Flying Spur that I thought belonged to the owner as a show of having arrived. It now transpired it is part of a fleet that includes a Bugatti, Ferrari, Lamborghini and Aston Martin, all available to guests or for hire for events and so on.

The hotel somewhat served a barometer for the return to a kind of normalcy as it is also in my walking exercises route. I could see when it was closed when it was preparing for opening and indications that it was back to receiving and entertaining guests was when I saw the laundry services truck outside.

Have the nose to drive

They have a little problem, in the onslaught of Brexit and the pandemic, the hospitality industry is suffering a staffing crisis. There are jobs and no one to fill them. Where there are people available, the requisite experience might be lacking. The delicate issue is they are seeking a chauffeur to drive the Bentley, I guess that comes with a whole set of snooty soft skills to cater to a particular clientele, not just any driver will do. I’ll end it there.

Anyway, I saw the car driven twice around my locality a few days ago, I do not know if they had already filled the position or the car was just being given a warm-up. Let’s just say the issue was serious enough to make it beyond the classifieds into a full news story along with unnecessary but albeit interesting detail about luxury car clubs and whatnot. [MEN: Manchester's 5-star Hotel Gotham can't find anyone to drive its Bentley and supercars]

Thought Picnic: A menacing annoyance of mobile phone abuse

Landing the mobile

I have no problems with people who need to keep in contact with family, friend, colleague, partner or whatever form of relationship defines the need to communicate.

The ubiquity of the mobile phone has offered opportunities once not possible a few decades ago.

Though, then, you probably made conversation in private, out of earshot in a room, a phone booth or an office.

I however still have the mindset of needing to take mobile phone calls undistracted.

Presence of thought

If away from home, I would find a place to sit down to chat. On the very rare situations where I take calls without sitting down, I would most likely be taking directions on how to get to some place.

What I find so irksome is people who do not realise how distracting taking a call on the street can be.

It is almost impossible to given equal attention to a telephone conversation and your surroundings.

Driving to distraction

Studies have shown that concentration is impaired by the distraction of a mobile phone call which can be dangerous for essential reaction when driving but also dangerous for being unaware of ones surroundings.

Wikipedia - Mobile phones and driving safety

Forbes - Science Proves That Cell Phones Are Annoying and Distracting

Yet people do fool themselves into thinking they are in control when clearly from observation they are not.

They are slower to react, slower walking, usually don’t walk in a straight line, more expectant of others not to bump into them as they walk along being carried by the flow of the crowd.

Vexed by texting

There are times I have scolded some to put away their phones as the try to mount stairs, get on escalators or board vehicles.

Those who send SMS messages are worse as they tap or scribble away on their devices ensconced in that world and completely oblivious of others.

A menace indeed

They are a public menace beyond mere annoyance consumed with a yearning that lacks restraint as the moment lost in having consideration of others is an eternity lost forever.

Indeed some things need urgent attention but not at the expense of being controlled, ordered and particularly considerate.

That is what I look for in people without having to demand they recognise where they are.

A youth driven from wisdom

I move with comfort

For long I have been amazingly wise in my own conceit and survived my journeys with means well provided.

In Amsterdam, the bicycle comes in handy for most trips till I saw the playback of my big fall in the slippery icy patch that was just 10 metres ahead, indeed, I did fall and great was my fall as my pride was dented in the presence of no one to observe.

Wet as it was, I dusted off myself and swore never to ride in thawing snow again. For short and long trips for convenience a taxi-cab has sufficed, the bus comes in handy if the landmarks at embarking and destination are clear.

Trams and metros could be fun if there is a place to sit, trains are such a bliss for long journeys, if there is time then the plane loses out. Before I fell ill I used a cane for a sometimes troublesome back, I became a lot slower when my feet succumbed to cancer and I had to use elbow crutches. The feet are mostly healed but a bit of support will help the full rehabilitation of my walk and gait.

No contraband in cars

However, at over 40 I do not know how to drive, that has a history I dare not repeat and a refrain I would be smart to keep quiet.

My cousin came all the way from London last Saturday having driven in his car, the advantage of car travel in Europe cannot be overstated, in his last journey I had goodly cooked Yoruba stew brought over, a thing you cannot accomplish by air travel.

His journey was probably the best part of 7 hours or less, including the ferry connection from Dover to Calais, just about the time it would take by train, but with booking in times and interchanges you might add another two.

Driven to wash

At 45, my cousin has been driving for 33 years; he loved to wash his father’s car and in the process got to move it back and forth to the point that there was enough confidence to handle the car.

I never like those activities, washing the car came usually as punishment for some misdemeanour rather than a present willingness to be helpful, I did jump at opportunities to change punctured tyres though because I knew to do that from when I was 8.

In some ways, I was a child of privilege, my father had a driver and sometimes two official cars, it was the driver’s job to ensure his office was in order, we were sometimes stopped from fraternising with the staff, but never escaped rebuke if we disrespected the staff – there wasn’t much you could do if the staff were the carers when our parents were out though.

Mobile parenting

So as my mates got out of secondary school and assumed the responsibility of being in post-secondary education, they had about 4 of 5 years of driving experience behind them, I did not because my dad decided the cars were too heavy to learn anything on and I did not pursue the idea of driving school because my expert colleagues began relieving the drivers in the weekends.

I just was not going to stand for that kind of treatment, but I learnt something new about the experience of driving your parents and their friends at that age – there are some conversations, insights, meetings and experiences that would never happen in any other environment but when you drive your forebears to places, what they talk about, who they meet, who you get introduced to and some indeterminate network that you end up building along with a certain relationship of trust.

Steering into wisdom

I would appear if you drove your parents at that age, you became an adult to them a quicker and you earn a level of respect that others have to struggle at by coming first at school by 10 percentage points or you have underperformed.

Suddenly, as my cousin shared that opinion I was slightly overcome with the shame of thinking how lowly the job of driving was that I never drove or properly learnt to drive, there was a repository of insight I missed out on – but then I can no more cry over split milk.

I still dream of having my own car and for all said and done, it would probably be a Bentley Continental because in my view it comes standard with a chauffeur. Like I clearly stated to a chauffeur service I had in my last contract, the whole purpose for having a big car is to sit in the back seat with room to stretch and read your papers, not at the steering wheel.

If you really must drive a luxurious car you own, then get you a two-seater vehicle or a trailer cab and put it in top gear.

Childhood: Driving the languages of sacrifice

Unculu drives

Continuing those stories of childhood down memory lane where I left off weeks ago. My father had moved to Jos to take up a new appointment with the Amalgamated Tin Mines of Nigeria.

My uncle who we have for long lovingly referred to as Unculu had joined us in Kaduna and I remember the many evenings when my mother took him out to teach him how to drive - suffice it to say he did not pick up that skill for another 8 or so years.

By which time, he bought a car and my father was so scared that he was going to brag his way with a drive to his office hardly 3 kilometres away - though we could see the office from our house - followed him so closely, it was almost illegal. Well, Unculu had really learnt to drive in some secret place and was doing quite nicely, Thank you.

Gave up much for us

When we were in Kaduna, my parents had both worked at the Kaduna Polytechnic, I believe my mother was also a lecturer there before we moved to Jos, because when we returned to Kaduna a few years later, at least 2 of her old students visited us as my mother proudly announced that her erstwhile students are now doing very well with their careers.

One has to be very appreciative of our parents and the sacrifices they made to keep the family unit together as much as possible.

Having left a lecturer-ship in Kaduna, my mother ended up as a secondary school teacher, not to far from where I went to primary school and she majored in teaching Commerce.

It is commendable in some ways how women in matrimony have given up promising careers and prospects for their husbands and family - what saddens me is when you get to talk to them and you sometimes hear regret about what they would have wanted to do but never got to do.

The lesson we could learn from this is to be able to have some hindsight that is not too far away from where there is still time to go after your dream.

Speaking in tongues

The many years she had spent in the North before meeting my father came in so useful, she was just as indigenous as the natives that she was referred to as Hajiya - a Hausa woman who had been on Hajj - well; my mother is quite a devout Christian and over time has become a true Nigerian polyglot.

She speaks her native Yoruba, which is spoken in the South-West, then having lived in the North for 23 years in total, is tongue-perfect in Hausa and fully conversant with their customs, but I was quite pleasantly surprised that she had mastered an Igbo dialect spoken in Eastern Nigeria without having ever been there.

I am sorry to say, I do not have the mastery of learning languages as my mother, I am quite good with Yoruba and really improving my Hausa in a way, even though I am not in Nigeria - I have no grasp of Igbo at all.

When it comes to languages, I suppose I am more like my father, he took radio and instructor-taught classes of Hausa and never really made much progress with it. His early attempts at Pidgin English were funny to say the least - he always has had an impeccable command of English - when I was younger, I could remember the number of times I needed to check out a word in the dictionary then the whole thing sinks in.

Mother-tongue of something else

I suppose one interesting thing about languages is that my mother-tongue is not my mother's mother-tongue, mine is English, it being the first language I could speak and still is the language my parents use the most in communicating with me - Yoruba rarely creeps into our conversation.

As I reached 10 my parents tried to engage me more in learning Yoruba, my best score in secondary school where the language was compulsory for the first 3 years was 38%, this was after years of being forced to read the Psalms into water in Yoruba rather than the easier English.

Much as I try, my command of Dutch is still rudimentary, it is still quite Double-Dutch and each time I string together a sentence to the hearing of the Dutch, I might as well be a clown because it brings laughs of incredulity rather than understanding - what could I be getting wrong?

Paris, the escapegoat

Petitioning the Gubernator

Some friend of a rich heiress has filed an internet petition to pardon Paris Hilton such that she does not end up in jail for traffic offences that she should be banged up for.

The delusions of grandeur in the petition are mind-blowing when for the reason of birth into great fortune rather than personal achievement she gets compared to President Richard Nixon and her situation is equated to the pardon he received from President Gerald Ford for his involvement in the Watergate scandal.

There are many who have not done as much as Miss Hilton who would love to have an iPetition going to the Gubernator, but to be pardoned for driving under the influence with the reckless disregard for public safety by driving lights-out would be a travesty of justice.

This bizarre influence peddling is unseemly, she is only going to spend 45 days jail, if only to help set her priorities right.

Role Model Roll Up

It can only be so laughable that Miss Hilton is painted as a role model who “provides hope for young people all over the US and the world. She provides beauty and excitement to (most of) our otherwise mundane lives.”

I cannot imagine the excitement of having Miss Hilton, off our screens, out of the news, starving the gossip columns, inaccessible to the paparazzi and incommunicado for 45 days, hardly mundane.

Indeed, many would love to have a rich daddy, I am not sure of the many who would want to film their sexual proclivities have that broadcast to the whole world via the Internet.

One must say though, that the position of being a role model does complicate the plea for mercy; do we allow role models to break the law with impunity, allow them to get away with it through surreptitious influence peddling and then see their protégés behave themselves?

I think not.

The effrontery

Now, this is what grates me, she is caught drink-driving, she has her licence suspended, she accepts that she should not be driving when caught the first time and then repeats the offence of driving without a licence and now, with her lights off in the dark – this, her friend says is an honest mistake in the same light as the involvement of President Nixon in the Watergate scandal.

It leaves me breathless with disbelief; the machinations of a remorseless, unrepentant, hypocritical and pretentious bashful rich girl – who is now trying to worm her way out of the consequences of well-balanced legal process on which she must have expended the best legal minds with the premise of being a scapegoat.

An escapegoat

You do not make scapegoats of people who have deliberately broken the law; they should by all means receive just review within the legal system and make do with the results, Miss Hilton is no scapegoat, but she is trying to be an escape goat. No doubt, this would be appealed to the nth degree.

Miss Hilton backs this petition, but she is of the great fortune that I am not the bench in a full-bottomed wig doubling the sentence and ensuring that she is well taken care of in Prisoner: Cell Block H - You are going down!. Time to file my own petition; keep her in there to the very last second.

Gaol Couture by Paris

One gets driven

Aspects of my upbringing except me from driving such that if opportunity does come to own a car, it would most likely be one that comes standard with a chauffeur, choices are few and that costs a lot of money.

Thankfully, one has had no need to play a lottery of one of three pedals and shift the gears such that the car remains stationary at an intersection before lurching forward into the grand dame's car in front; one is satisfied with the mix of metro, tram, train, taxi and air travel services around Europe.

As it stands, I cannot be caught for driving under the influence and I have never been done for any traffic infringement - even in Amsterdam, when on my bicycle I stop at the lights and always have lights on from dusk.

The drunken roads to prison

Roads are a very public place - moot point - there is a civic responsibility incumbent on being a road user, soberness, alertness, consideration and patience but many seem to get away with the mindless use of a mobile phone whiles in traffic having had a drink or two with utter disregard for the safety of both themselves and others - if caught, such people should have visited upon them, the full weight of the law.

In some lands, the penalties include license endorsements/suspension, hefty fines or imprisonment, some culprits attract all that as we read of a hotel heiress who having been caught drunk in charge of a vehicle and put on probation with a license suspension then was done for speeding and driving at speed with her lights off.

You must walk this way

It is now the accepted rite of passage for rich young people to find happiness in a pill downed with copious amounts of alcohol as their lascivious existence becomes the livelihood of the paparazzi and scoop chasers some of whom they engaged to rise to fame in the hedonistic rags called glossy celebrity magazines.

A fast car, a few expensive drugs and the immediacy of sex almost always involves rehab, a brush with the law, a day or two in court and the fashionable sojourn at the pleasure of the government of the day, somehow, daddy can no more pay the price of keeping the whole sorry tale out of the public domain anymore.

New careers for others

Upon that, you find the feeders, public prosecutors in the guise of doing their job, redoubling efforts to ensure that the privileged do not escape the letter of the law or dare I say, the opportunity to embellish the résumé with - "I put a rich kid in jail" with the flurry and the gamut of press interest and photo opportunities that would enhance the career of any ambulance chaser.

City Attorney Rocky Delgadillo said Hilton is being treated the same as anyone else, indeed, your village rag might just summon the front-page headline - Rocky ride for Paris, they might even improve on it; our boy has done well. This is just speculation, Rocky is beyond reproach, he is only doing his job.

Is this news?

My news spectrum has been invaded with news of a rich nonentity going to jail for flouting her probation, it happens everyday, so why is this taking over the headlines?

Paris Hilton would be making an appearance at the Los Angeles Country jail where she would be rehabilitated for 45 days, paying her dues to community in protected custody for her safety - read solitary confinement - reserved for special cases.

Crime does pay

Contrast this with the other celebrity who had to do 5 days community service with the sanitary department in New York - Naomi Campbell - she made her appearances a stunning fashion show by clothes-horsing over £236,000 of couture, it was a mockery of the whole crime and punishment model (excuse the pun).

Naomi Campbell on Day 1 to Day 4 appearing for community service.

© The New York Times - Peter Foley/European Pressphoto Agency (Monday); Bryan Gedder/Getty Images (Tuesday and Wednesday); Lucas Jackson/Reuters

You only have to view this on the Crime Does Pay slideshow in the Telegraph. Ms Hilton might not be afforded a Dolce & Gabbana couture evening gown worth about £50,000 as part of her prison wear but she can at the end of her visit put her hand to a new venture - Gaol Couture by Paris - it would be a sure hit, youth fashion today is no better than what you will find worn in prison, anyhow.

Naomi Campbell on Day 5

© Reuters - The Daily Telegraph

Chatting up more bravado than a drunk

Mind the long bus

I could not help a smirk this morning as I rode on the bus to work. I usually take the backseat in the double-length 18-metre long bus because it gives me a 10-stride advantage of getting off and getting to the office quicker - well, it is a perception.

These long buses which could top 10 tonnes or more can be manoeuvred like snakes as they take corners, but the comfort could almost tempt you into thinking you are in a car.

That false sense of existence leads the absent-minded to expect the bus to stop abruptly if they suddenly realise that the bus is just about nose past their stop - very few drivers risk the act of applying the brakes though the passenger would almost always rain insults on the poor driver for not stopping.

We live in a world where you can never ever be at fault no matter how blatantly obvious it is.

So, today, I could not take the back seat, but the one just before because this voluminous man had splayed himself on the three back seats, well with one occupied by his rucksack.

Yapping like a dog on a phone

Then my peace and tranquillity was assaulted beyond tolerable limits as he mouthed into a phone call that almost lasted the whole journey, my irritation is getting quite palpable.

I suddenly thought, he would miss his stopped because he seemed so engrossed in his talk to be attentive to his surroundings, then he pressed the stop button to alert the driver, by which time it was obvious that driver would drive on to the next stop rather than turn his passengers in crash test dummies.

So, the man ended his conversation on the phone to rail abuse on the driver for not heeding the bell which the driver just ignored.

On reaching the next stop, when for which I think the driver had been alerted, the bus stopped and our man got off - in my mind the 1 kilometre walk back to his original stop and consequent destination would do him well.

However, the point is, I do not need scientific papers to clearly illustrate that there is nothing you can conveniently do with adequate concentration when you are chatting on a mobile phone.

Dangerous as drunks

It has been said car phone users are four times more likely to crash, that could just be as dangerous as drinking under the influence.

I have not just seen this kind of concentration stupor with car drivers, it applies to cyclists who I have see ride their bikes as if they are on a zigzag course and pedestrians who have walked into the path of vehicles all as they chat to their pals on their mobile phones.

To the exclusion of all else

Basically, there are many jobs where one can multi-task but when it comes to speaking on the phone you are trying to block out every kind of interference whilst trying to be completely communicative on the phone - this leads to a loss of awareness - a feature necessary to do this properly, rightly, meticulously, confidently and consciously.

The problem is, many do really think they are both capable and aware such that use of a mobile phone cannot in any way impair judgment - that is same bravado of drunk.

Doing right

I rarely do other things when I am on the phone except if it is related to a support calls - in fact, I just had a 30-minute conversation with an old colleague and left this article unfinished to concentrate on the call - it was social.

If you do have to talk, make safe your situation by aborting everything to concentrate on that call - in a car, hands-free sets are not the answer, rather, park your car and take the call, in other cases where there is risk of collision or accidents whilst walking or riding a bicycle - stop and find a place out of the way to take your call - better still, let your phone take a message and you can deal with it later when you are safe and sure.

Reference

Study: Drivers on Mobile Phones as Impaired as Drunks