Driving In My Car

In a dispassionate act, aimed at easing potential transportation issues for my fragrant chum Sarah’s two young grandkids (Rory & Gracie), yesterday I included Ossett’s finest onto my car insurance cover.

The rationale behind the indemnity modification (well, apart from me being an inherently kind fella), was a conclusion my four door vehicle would provide easier manoeuvrability for two child seats than her current three door hatchback automobile.

Yours truly taking this step after receiving Sazza’s re-assurances she’ll not utilise ‘ma voiture’ as a getaway car during bank raids. And, if she did implicate my beloved A-class Merc in such reckless criminality, at the very least would commit the felony using false number plates.

Footnote – Thats the car bearing false plates, not her. As it stands, our civil rights haven’t diminished to such an extent the populous aren’t mandated to wander around this sceptred isle adorning number plates. False or otherwise!!

It’s gotta be said, if GJ Strachan currently ‘enjoyed’ gainful employment the logistics of this vehicle sharing arrangement would’ve been far trickier. However, with this (mostly) easy going northern Englishman enjoying early retirement, along with the promise I can utilise her three door Ford vehicle when she requires use of my vroom vroom, it’s an altogether easier ballgame…… Or should be.

Generally bereft of having to dash anywhere when I take the wheel of the Mercedes, I tend to drive sensibly, or as Sarah would posit “Driving like an old codger!” However, I make no apologies for my sentient approach as I navigate Britain’s highways and byways.

Even my fragrant female chum’s mischievous aspersions she’ll be the first person (since I purchased the vehicle) to take the speedo over 50mph fails to dent my pragmatic resolve to drive safely. Sazington’s whimsical slurs that yours truly drives so slow I couldn’t even secure a role driving a funeral hearse, and if I drove any slower I’d run the risk of being arrested for kerb crawling, falling upon deaf ears.

She may reference my pedestrian paced motoring in an emasculating way; however, like Tattoo from Fantasy Island’s penis, driving recklessly is neither big or clever….. Unless, of course, the little fella’s John Thomas had a degree in nuclear physics Oxford or Cambridge….. Or, indeed, he did have a big penis!!….. Erm, moving on swiftly.

My early driving lessons were taken in the company of my late old man, Malcolm….. Incidentally, he hadn’t passed away when facilitating the lessons…. I’m no expert on the Highway Code (which perhaps I shouldn’t openly boast); however, even though it’s unlikely to mention it within the tome’s educational leafs, I’d venture being taught how to drive by someone bereft of life would be frowned upon by police and road safety groups alike.

I probably got my cautiousness behind the wheel from a childhood of witnessing my dad’s sensible approach when navigating the roads. Me taking this expedient driving into my adulthood. Like Mally, I think our careful propulsive penchant can be summed up perfectly by the motto on clan Strachan’s coat of arms. The phrase ‘Non Timeo, Sed Caveo’ translating as ‘i fear not, but i am cautious’.

Mercifully, I’m assured by Sarah the motto from her clan’s coat of arms is ‘Nolite uti Gaius vehiculum ut getaway car’, which translates as ‘Don’t use Gary’s vehicle as a getaway car.’…… A re-assuring message under the circumstances.

Anyhow, I need to conclude this narrative at this juncture as there appears to be a gathering of uniformed and plain clothed police officers at my front door….. I wonder what they want?!

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