Romancing the rover driver.

Now far be it for me to suggest anything, perish the thought no.

But today it was the kids parents evening in school, which is a few miles a way.

Naturally we had forgotten and the house was in enforced darkness as I rewired some lights in braille with the mains off.

This meant delay and in turn necessitated a rather brisk pace on the trip which took in the sort of winding roads beloved of rally drivers with which West Wales is strewn.

As she took us, in her most expert fashion of course, I mused about some of the cars we have owned.

How would you recognise one?

Well for a start they would be old, we never go in for new cars.

They would be wheezy and asthmatic, as if they had worked hard.

There would be other tell tales to hint that she had been driving.

The flattening of the passenger side carpets roughly where the the brake pedal should be with a few rents and rips, maybe even dents in the floor in the shape of a boot.

The dash board and grab handles baring the impacted imprint of hands, thats if the grab rails were not actually missing, torn off by someone in the throes of strong emotion.

Internal door handles scratched, could they have been gripped repeatedly by someone intent on jumping out at the next lights?

The seats, showing signs of regular dry cleaning with hand shaped chunks torn out of the sides.

Now, management, used to be a lay preacher and it would be quite uncalled for for me to suggest far more people have found god as passengers in her car than ever did on the pews of her chapel......


R