I have two problems ...

when driving Alfie Porsche.

Problem Number One: he doesn't have a rear view mirror. He has one but it's in the glove compartment. Husband has tried numerous times to stick it back on - including with a professional glue - but it keeps coming off. That shouldn't be a problem as Husband says, 'Use the wing mirrors.' But they're adjusted for his driving position and you know what these German Italian European car manufacturers are like: they like to hide things. So they're really difficult to change. It's not just a case of twiddling something.

So basically if you see me driving Alfie Porsche, especially if you're behind me, give me plenty of room as I probably don't know you're there. (I don't drive Alfie very often, don't worry.)

Problem Number Two: when driving Alfie I turn into Mr. Cool. Which would be okay if I weren't a sixty-five-old slightly-less-than-cool (but only very slightly) woman. I need Aretha on my hi-tech music machine (okay, cassette deck as Alfie's quite old) thumping out, 'R E S P E C T' and I'm the man. 

And obviously it was thus I appeared when a youth, a learner driver, pulled up outside me at the traffic lights on his 175cc motorbike. He glanced down at me, revved his engine, and I thought, 'Think you can challenge me, eh?'

No, I didn't. I mean I thought it but I didn't take him up on it. Tempting though it was. And, sadly, judging by the way he pulled in front of another car shortly afterwards I fear this young learner may not live to pass his test.