The weather outside was frightful. Thick fog bear-hugged the A40. We were in a car somewhere outside Oxford on Christmas Eve, although we could have been ticks inside the fleece of an unshorn sheep for all I could see outside the windscreen.
I hadn’t learned to drive until my early thirties. With the ink on my pass certificate still drying, one obvious idea had come to me and my partner Helena: this year, we had the freedom to drive around to see every member of our respective families. No need to risk the stress of delay-ridden trains, or to squeeze ourselves and everyone’s gifts onto National Express buses like human Buckaroos. Christmas was saved!
