Failed twice the first time in Scotland, and once on my Australian licence after emigrating.
In Irvine I had the worst driving instructor in the world, Mr Stirratt, an ex headmaster who wore a collar, tie and jacket with leather elbow patches. Yes he wore other clothes too, Peeps.
He kept saying "now watch Mr Stirratt..." when demonstrating, and shouted when you turned the steering wheel too sharply, as he felt it gave the wheels an uneven tread. He was basically a Sunday driver who had been let out on weekdays with a licence to tell people off, he was a tit.
My best instructor was a young fellow, not much older than me, whose teaching technique was to hunker down in the passenger seat, put his feet up on the dashboard and say "go for it".