You Take the High Road and I'll ...

One of the many joys of incipient old age is that one's hearing is less than perfect. So when Dearest asked me the other day what the hell I was doing,  I told him I was practising my clutch-control. He disappeared back behind the newspaper, sharpish.

I think he thought I'd described some pelvic floor manoeuvre. Made him squeamish. Until I reassured him that I was fine-tuning my brain in readiness for a return to the road.

I immediately wished I'd shown no sign of weakness, as he then suggested I took a driving lesson. Admittedly, I haven't been driving for nigh on three years. Do you know what? There are some people who would get on their high horse at this point, but not me. 

Very sensible, I said and immediately booked an appointment with a friend I'd not seen for some years. We spent a very happy couple of hours: an hour driving and an hour catching up. It's true. It is like riding a bike. 

That was a week ago. Tomorrow is the big day I collect my red mini. I have asked them to remove the Go-Faster stripes because I believe this sets up false expectations amongst fellow road-users. I will not be going too fast. Unless I need to get myself out of trouble. Rest assured, I will then be going like the proverbial manure off the spade. (You can tell I have spent the past week in the garden.)

My first ever car in the 80s