beep beep

This is not my car.

When I was 17 years old my father bought me a provisional driving licence and gave me £50 towards getting some driving lessons. I shoved the licence in a drawer, palmed the cash and high tailed to Miss Selfridge to procure the loftiest platform boots I could find* and several varieties of iridescent space dust eye-shadow.

You see I've never really had much interest in driving. I don't like the responsibility that comes with wielding a chunk of potentially lethal metal about, I'm not convinced my concentration levels are sharp enough to constantly look out for all of the lunatic drivers who seem to populate the roads and I could never see the point in spending immense amounts of cash on everything it takes to run a motor when I can walk, jump on a train or bus and be wherever I want very easily, with the added benefit of being environmentally friendly.

People who love driving always go on about the freedom to be out on the open road...yada yada. Most of the time they just seem to complain about being stuck in traffic jams, how much they had to spend to fix their car when it broke yet again or how tricky finding parking is. But anyway here we are, 17 was a lifetime ago. I still have a penchant for clumpy boots but I've finally given in and after a few stalled attempts I've bought a teeny tiny Smart car and I'm finally making an effort to pass my test which I should be up for soon.

The reason is entirely for practicalities sake, I look after my elderly dad and and having forced him to stop driving some time ago it's getting tricky to get him from A to B without the aid of helpful family members or taxis. His independence has all but disappeared recently and I'm not ready to let him vegetate at home all the time, so with gritted teeth I'll pass my test and be his personal taxi service to get him out and about again. I don't think I'll ever be someone who sees the romance in driving particularly, but grudgingly I guess it's a useful skill to have.

*I still have a scar on the top of my left foot from one of the seams of those boots rubbing my foot raw. Oh how I loved them, but oww oww how they hurt.

Image here


  1. Great story. Sorry though to hear about your father's health. What a great daughter you are:)



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