Yes, I’ve been caught speeding but don’t dare tell me I can’t drive just because I’m old: JENNI MURRAY

Published: 01:32, 14 August 2025 | Updated: 01:32, 14 August 2025

Nothing would cause me greater grief than saying goodbye to my car. My precious little Mini convertible is the only thing that's kept me going through the past few years of pain, loneliness and depression [2].

I can't do public transport any more. I have a disabled badge, which means parking is generally possible and, without my Mini, how would I nip round the corner to get my nails done or down to town for a haircut?

How would I get to Barnet for lunch with one son or Bournemouth to see the other?

How would I get my chihuahua Maggie to the vet next week for the snip which will render her infertile? How would I make it to the theatre to meet friends or round to the local restaurant to have dinner with Sally?

My Mini is my independence. So, how dare the Government suggest that my age - 75 - makes me a danger on the road and threaten to revoke my driving licence.

I'm furious that under a new Government road safety strategy, from the autumn, I - and everyone else over 70 - may be forced to take compulsory eye tests every three years when we apply to renew our licences.

We may also have to face a medical test to check whether we're still fit to be let loose on the road.

Seriously? Do they really consider us the kind of idiots who don't understand that being able to see and control a vehicle effectively is essential for all drivers?

I have my eyes tested every year. It's imperative as we age to check for diseases such as glaucoma, cataracts or age-related macular degeneration.

I fully acknowledge that when my eyesight deteriorates beyond a certain point, I may have to put away my car keys.

But surely we sensible oldies can be trusted to be honest and wise enough to admit to any such problem, report it to the authorities and willingly, albeit painfully, accept our driving days are over.

Jenni Murray says ministers who are so keen to rewrite the rules of the road have no idea how much people like her rely on their cars

I may no longer have the 20:20 vision of which I was so proud in my youth, but I've dealt with it - I now have four pairs of recently prescribed spectacles. One for reading, a second for working with the computer, a third for distant vision which I use for watching television, plays in the theatre and, yes, driving the car. The fourth is a pair of sunglasses with distant vision lenses.

They are kept in my Mini at all times. I always wear the right pair in the right circumstances and see perfectly well to drive.

I think the ministers who are so keen to rewrite the rules of the road have no understanding of how much people like me rely on their cars to live their lives.

Last weekend, I drove from north London to the village of Radlett along the M1 on Saturday afternoon. I was invited to tea by friends who wanted to show me their new house.

The sun shone, the roof was down, I felt like the unhappy housewife living the jet-set dream in Marianne Faithfull's Ballad Of Lucy Jordan: 'At the age of 37, she knew she'd found forever, as she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair.'

Well, OK.

I wasn't riding through Paris and it's a good while since I was 37, but that air of freedom and romance was as powerful at 75 as it would have been all those years ago. The warm wind did blow through my hair and it felt wonderful. Now comes the part in the story that proves that in fact the Government should be focusing their attention on reckless young drivers, rather than sensible seniors like me.

On the way home from my friends' house, I approached a difficult and complicated roundabout with extreme caution.

I approached slowly, placed myself in the correct lane and proceeded safely, only for a young guy in a massive van to decide he could squeeze through at speed in the lane to my right.

He shot past me with a horrible grinding sound, tearing part of the front right wing on my car, damaging the bonnet and ripping the surround of the headlight clean off.

Did he stop and offer to pay for the damage? He did not.

My car is still drivable, so I'll make it to Epping tonight to have dinner with my friend there. But there will be a significant price to pay: no doubt a new bonnet and lots of paint.

No one but me will take responsibility for an accident that was absolutely not my fault.

'I know there are some conditions that make driving a dangerous practice, but as long as I feel I am safe, I shall continue. After all, one of my 90-year-old friends still does it,' says Jenni

I'm not trying to come across as holier than thou.

I confess I have not always been perfect behind the wheel. Nine years ago I had an accident that was my fault.

I was in a slow-moving queue in the nightmare that is London's North Circular and, knowing I would soon have to turn left, I was looking out for a sign when I hit the car in front. There was minimal damage but, of course, I ended up paying far more than was necessary to the other driver who claimed virtual destruction.

And I confess I have been done for speeding three times, but always for going only a tiny amount over the limit.

I've dutifully taken note of all the advice at the training courses, have no points on my licence and would argue I am, in fact, a safer driver than ever before.

But how I suffer for my determination never to break the law again. If on occasion I pull away slowly at the lights, I hear the furious hooting of horns behind me. I stick my head out of the window and screech obscenities that are far too awful to repeat in a family newspaper.

I love the sheer astonishment on their faces when they hear the words coming from a 'little old lady'.

No, it's not me who deserves the strict re-examining proposed by the Government, it's the young.

The elderly are well aware the day may come when we have to relinquish our licences. My mother had to give up hers at 70 because her Parkinson's disease made her unable to drive safely. I'm not stupid - I know there are some conditions that make driving a dangerous practice, but as long as I feel I am safe, I shall continue.

After all, one of my 90-year-old friends still does it.

Why shouldn't I?

Brad's ears are burning

Jennifer Aniston on the cover of the latest issue of Vanity Fair

I wonder if Brad Pitt knows that Jennifer Aniston, his former wife, and Gwyneth Paltrow, once his fiancee, get together and bitch about him.

In the latest issue of Vanity Fair, Aniston admits they talk about Pitt, saying: 'How can we not?

We're girls.'

Gwyneth wasn't hurt as much as Jennifer by Pitt, who famously dumped her for Angelina Jolie five years after they married, but it's delicious to think of the two Hollywood stars giggling together over the mess he landed himself in with Jolie and their nightmare divorce.

Oh, to be a fly on that wall at one of their girls' nights out.

I am secretly delighted at reports by the veg box delivery company Oddbox of a broccoli shortage. Apparently a 55 per cent below average rainfall has left UK growers struggling. I've eaten broccoli because it's said to be healthy, but I hate it.

Now I'm off the hook.

GBP12,000 for a duvet? Seriously!

Would I be prepared to buy a duvet for more than GBP12,000?

No, John Lewis, I would not.

What's happened to the store we trusted never to rip us off thanks to the 'never knowingly undersold' mantra?

If John Lewis is no longer the bastion of sensible shopping, we're all done for.

The Ultimate Collection duvet

I still recall terror of results day

It's A-level results day and I remember the terror so well.

I was in Turkey with my parents. My results had been posted to my grandma.

She opened it and called my mother: Two As and a B.

Thank goodness. I could take my place at Hull University and Mum couldn't criticise me. If the result had been bad, I'd have preferred Mum not to know.

So I understand the fear pupils are feeling today.

Good luck!

References

^ JENNI MURRAY, COLUMNIST (www.dailymail.co.uk)
^ depression (www.dailymail.co.uk)