After three hours of soul-sapping boredom, I realised that those speed awareness courses are nothing more than a cynical extortion racket run by police: CHRISTOPHER STEVENS

By CHRISTOPHER STEVENS, TV CRITIC Published: 00:59, 11 June 2026 | Updated: 01:05, 11 June 2026 My own fault, of course. On a deserted road at 1am, driving home from the railway station after a day in London, I got clocked by a speed camera. The ‘notice of intended prosecution’ or Section 172 letter from Avon and Somerset Police arrived two weeks later.  I stood accused of doing 36mph in a 30mph limit. I could pay a £100 fine and have three points on my clean driving licence or avoid both penalties by signing up for an online ‘speed awareness course’. The next letter directed me to a ‘UK road offender education’ website where I could book the course and pay my fee. Cost: coincidentally or not, £100. It was blatantly obvious what was happening. I was the victim of an extortion racket run by my local police force. And unlike the spam emails, bogus social media messages and automated phone calls that bombard us every day, this was official. If I tried to sidestep the scam, I risked prosecution and a heftier fine, because the racketeers had law on their side. They were the law. Avon and Somerset were shaking me down for a ton, simply because they could. Courses like these were first tried by Lancashire Police in 2003 and proved such a moneyspinner that within three years they were rolled out nationwide. Christopher Stevens was clocked doing 36mph in a 30mph zone and given the option to do a speed awareness course to avoid a fine and points on his licence  At first, drivers had to attend a workshop that lasted most of a day but, since the pandemic and the advent of Zoom and other online video software, many courses are now conducted over the internet – saving the authorities the cost of booking a conference room. Trusted Training And Compliance (TTC), my provider, reports an annual turnover of £48.6 million, of which the police collect about 35 per cent and the providers keep the rest. TTC is notorious as the most expensive of the companies offering these courses, though there isn’t much in it. The AA’s Drive-tech sessions are £96.20. Around 1.84 million drivers took speed awareness courses in 2024, the most recent year for which figures are available. That’s 3 per cent more than the previous year – and a 139 per cent increase from 2011. Speeding offences have also increased sharply since 2011, by 87 per cent. Are we really driving a lot faster, or have the police discovered that there’s an immense revenue potential in clobbering drivers with these courses? How immense? In 2022, 2,520,000 fixed penalty speeding notices were issued – resulting in fees totalling £88,250,000 for the course providers. To top it all off, they don’t even have to provide milk and teabags, a saving that hadn’t occurred to me until I logged on for my course last Thursday at 7.45am. An email crammed with officious instructions had warned me not to be late, on pain of failing the course and losing my fee, but when I clicked to join the meeting, all I saw was a message informing me that the organiser knew I was waiting. I checked my camera and microphone a couple of times. The email was insistent on this. Technical breakdowns or a lack of know-how would also see me flunk the course. A few minutes later, the screen flickered to life and a chap with watery eyes, perhaps closer to 80 than 70, introduced himself in a mumble (let’s call him Tony). I turned the sound up to maximum, trying to catch what he was saying: he wanted to know whether I preferred ‘Christopher’ or ‘Chris’. Apparently ‘Mr Stevens’ wasn’t an option. ‘Make yourself a brew, Christopher,’ he crowed, waved a mug at the screen, and vanished. That was a good start – I had permission to boil a kettle in my own house. At 8.05am, a row of faces popped up on the screen and we all had to introduce ourselves. I have to applaud the woman who hadn’t even bothered getting out of bed. She spent the entire three hours sitting propped up against a pillow, wearing a cardie, with a curved velveteen headboard behind her and a bedside lamp at her elbow. All ten attendees were visibly going through the motions. They knew this would be pointless and just hoped to get through it with the minimum of fuss. The mumbling slowed us down, though. Tony kept asking us to ‘mute our microphones’ and then looking cross. Finally, a lady with a headmistressly air demanded clarification: ‘Are you asking us to “mute” or “unmute”?’ According to Tony, it isn’t possible for the human body to survive a crash at more than 38mph, which will come as a surprise to many F1 drivers In reality, the whole shambolic business had nothing to do with ‘road safety’ or ‘speed awareness’. It was just a money-making con It turned out we were supposed to ‘unmute’. Later on, we had the same problem with ‘legal’ and ‘illegal’. Tony, it seemed, hadn’t put his teeth in straight that morning. He impressed upon us the importance of taking notes, as we’d be making ‘action plans’ at the end. Our ‘action plans’, he said, were the most important part of the course. Throughout, he was battling with his laptop. We all had to be technically competent but apparently the teacher did not. ‘Can you see my PowerPoint?’ he kept asking, as our screens went blank. After a while, the picture returned but the sound went off. Some of the information was contradictory or nonsensical. According to Tony, it isn’t possible for the human body to survive a crash at more than 38mph, which will come as a surprise to many F1 drivers. I managed to bite my tongue almost all the time, and only slipped once, when Tony said: ‘If I told you five people a day are killed on British roads, you’d think, “It won’t happen to me.” But if I told you five people a day win the lottery, then what would you think?’ Silence. So I said: ‘I’d think, it won’t happen to me.’ This is what schoolmasters call ‘malicious compliance’ – an instinctive response to any tinpot dictatorship. Tony counted to three, forced a tight smile and said: ‘Or, you could think, “Yes, it might be me.”’ The longer this went on, the more his concentration drifted. The halfway break came after two hours, following a good deal of information about Tony’s holidays in France, his upcoming wedding anniversary and his wife’s views on chewing gum. By the time we reached the action plans, supposedly the most important part of our re-education, only five minutes remained. This section was somewhat rushed. In reality, the whole shambolic business had nothing to do with ‘road safety’ or ‘speed awareness’. It was just a money-making con, a shocking waste of time that frequently strayed into farce. I broke the law. But they’re the crooks, writes Christopher Stevens When motorists genuinely need reminding of their responsibilities, a face-to-face reprimand from a copper is far more effective. And I should know, because that’s a lesson I learnt and never forgot. About ten years ago, in a blast of classic mid-life crisis, I bought a second-hand sports car. My wife calls it ‘the male Meno-Porsche’. A week later, I took it for an run with the roof down across the Downs in Bristol. It’s a loop of road, often empty, but that night I was slowed down by a black Range Rover pootling along at the 20mph limit. Like a twerp, I roared past... and saw blue flashing lights in my rear view mirror. I pulled over and the unmarked cop car drew in behind me. As the policeman approached, I said something like: ‘Hello officer, that was foolish of me.’ He took a long look at me, ran his eye over the Boxster and said: ‘If that was my car, I’d want to do exactly what you did – overtake when I shouldn’t. Don’t do it again.’ With that, he waved me on. I’d had a short, pointed, highly effective talking-to. And I haven’t been stupid enough to overtake any car on a city road. Lesson learned. Naturally, I’ll do my best to observe speed limits in future. But the only lesson I learned from Tony the tutor is that to Avon and Somerset Police, and TTC, drivers like me are worth many millions a year. I broke the law. But they’re the crooks. No comments have so far been submitted. Why not be the first to send us your thoughts, or debate this issue live on our message boards. By posting your comment you agree to our house rules. Do you want to automatically post your MailOnline comments to your Facebook Timeline? Your comment will be posted to MailOnline as usual. Do you want to automatically post your MailOnline comments to your Facebook Timeline? 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