I got done for speeding. I believe that is the expression commonly used. Bang to rights, as they say.

Although I’m not quite sure what the literal translation of “bang to rights” means I can safely report that driving at 39mph on a 30mph stretch of road means “you’re nicked”.

Particularly if there is an unmarked police car sitting in a layby with a speed camera.

So from thence, the flowchart presents two options.

The first arrow directs you down a path of a £100 fine and three points on the licence.

The second arrow points to a speed awareness course and £100 fee to pay for it.

No-brainer. Let me tell you, I signed up for the course much more speedily than 39mph.

So there we all were, in the catchily titled Jobserve Community Stadium, home of the mighty U’s.

A disparate group of speed junkies shuffling around silently outside a conference room on the first floor...24 of us. Twenty blokes and four women.

The sense of male testosterone and indignation was almost tangible in the room as we all trudged in on the dot of 9am.

Lateness is not tolerated. I wondered if anyone had been fined for speeding, trying to get to a speed awareness course on time.

What I was expecting was two hours of gruesome videos and different variations of the Christmas telly adverts that try to shock you into stopping you from drink and driving?’

What I got was a wide ranging discussion with everyone around the ethics of car use, fossil fuels and the whole future of the car industry!

Most illuminating. Could I be the only one who thoroughly enjoyed their speed awareness course?

Throw in some interval drinks and a house band and I’d be back every week.

It was revealed that 96 per cent of all car accidents are caused by human error.

Was the idea of fully automated cars therefore appealing? No! Declared the room. Yes! Declared I.

Why the heck not? In 20 years, none of us might have a car as such, we could just punch in the postcode of where we’re going, a solar powered automatic car would arrive at the house, we could get in it, go to bed and wake up in Birmingham. Outside the house where your sister lives.

I know it’s wrong to make snap judgements on people but I have to say I’d be much happier sleeping in the comfort of autocar with Mrs Robot at the wheel than the thought of being driven overnight by most of the guys banging the table in demand for control of their own gear stick.

All of this comes on the back of my wife constantly berating me for driving too slowly.

Where’s the justice in that?