I was eighteen at the time and my then girlfriend and I were to be seen going about he town on an old DKR 125cc scooter. In 1963 this form of transport was normal for most of my compatriots, and motor cars seemed quite out of the question.
I however had a reasonably well paid job, and more importantly I did
not follow the popular trend of smoking cigarettes. Beer drinking is something that I have to
admit to, but this was never excessive as I was aware of my driving licence. As a result, I was able to afford driving
lessons once a week on a Saturday morning.
I decided to say nothing to either my girlfriend or any of my mates
just in case I failed the approaching driving test. After eight weeks silence, and with a degree
of satisfaction with my progress, things suddenly changed!
It was late on this particular Saturday morning and I was attempting a
three point turn in the cul-de-sac close to my girlfriend’s home. Yes you have guessed. My girlfriend and her mother came walking up
the road complete with shopping bags. I
was soon seen and caught, as they say, ‘bang to rights.’
My inevitable interrogation came later in the day.
“How long have you been doing lessons?” my girlfriend demanded. “Were you going to tell me”?
Was I? Hum!
David Taylor
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