Many, many years ago, I was crawling in my car down Blue Bell Hill after being suddenly caught in the most appalling weather when my mobile phone went off.

It was slung on the passenger seat (my favourite place for ‘filing’ things), and I glanced down momentarily to see who was calling.

In that split second, the car in front of me hit the car in front, I aquaplaned into the back of him and the car behind me did the same to me.

It was a slow-moving chain of events which probably would have happened no matter what, and apart from several slightly battered vehicles, we were all okay.

There was no law in place at that time banning the use of phones while driving and even though I hadn’t answered the call, it shook me up enough to convince me never to take or make one while driving.

I now either put my phone in the boot where I can’t hear it, or if I’m expecting an important message, put it at the bottom of my bag in the passenger footwell so I can hear it go off, pull over safely and return the call.

I sound holier than thou, I know, but I’ve never understood why people think that a phone call is far more important than your life, or that of the person in
the vehicle you’re likely to hit.

Because it’s that simple. A car is a hulking great piece of machinery and it can kill.

Why increase those chances of a crash by doing something so distracting?

It has got better since it became illegal to call and drive, but the penalties clearly aren’t enough because let’s face it, barely a journey goes by where you don’t see someone with a phone clamped to their ear while they are trying to negotiate a roundabout, or weaving their way down the motorway.

Now, motorists caught using their mobile phones while driving will automatically receive six points on their licence (at the moment it’s three) and an on-the-spot fine of £200, double what they’re hit with now, under government changes.

No doubt there will be people whingeing and whining when the first few fines are handed out just as there were when councils started bringing in fines for littering. It’s quite simple – if you don’t want to pay the fine, don’t commit the offence.

I don’t give two hoots if you want to chat to your mates about the Great British Bake Off drama while you pop to the shops, but don’t do it while you’re driving near me and mine.

And if the call really is a matter of life and death, you need to be giving that crisis your full attention, so get someone else to give you a lift.

The grammar school debate rumbles on, and will rumble on forever more.

As someone who passed their 11-plus, and pretty much loved every minute of their time at a grammar, I’m all in favour of them.

It served me well and although I didn’t achieve the grades I’d hoped for (I panicked during exams for some reason), I ended up where I wanted to be.

My parents no doubt agonised over their choice of Fort Pitt, Chatham and Rochester, taking into consideration results, the travel (we all had to get the bus back in those days and most trips involved at least a two-bus journey), the general feeling of the school and what other parents with older children had to say about the teaching.

As for me, I was always pitching for Fort Pitt for one simple reason. The pink shirts.