It looks like I need to get a Jesus attachment for my car.
As of Monday the 4th of October, I am no longer called Maureen. On the fifth attempt I’ve finally passed my driving test and am legally able to vroom on my own.
I didn’t create the best atmosphere in which to take it, however. I arrived at work at 9am to find that my Micra had some water in its left headlamp, making it look as it it spent the whole weekend crying. After trying to prise the lens off and realising that it wasn’t going to happen I called several garages in Cambridge to find out nothing can be done. I decided to say a rosary and, if the subject came up, to tell the tester that my car was only nervous.
Next on the list was to renew my tax disc so once Panda arrived we went to Bar Hill (via the dreaded Girton Interchange) as there was a post office there which did tax shennanigans. Unfortunately someone stole the post office. Cue some almost bub bubbing from a very stressed Damo.
Finally there was a post office in Longstanton which fixed me up. I had a quick fag and felt better.
Then test time.
I thought I fouled up the reverse bay park again so I drove as if I’d failed and spent more time thinking about booking the next one. When I heard the words, “I’m please to say you’ve passed.” I had to ask three times if he was telling the truth.