My father told each of his children and step children that, as he had far too much money, he was gifting us a sum of, I think, £2,000. I was the odd one out in that I was given £1,000 and my father's old motor to sell, an old banger worth, he reckoned, less than a thousand pounds. But at least I could drive it until I sold it although the process of selling was bound to be a pain and was something I dreaded.
So I just carried on driving until the day at the end of November that I was heading to Greece when I, for some reason, found myself slipping into neutral and stopping suddenly on the slipway onto the M32 here in Bristol.
A white van man hit me and a lady teacher hit the white van man. He was very cross with me but she was sweet as pie. My father was just glad that I was alright and accepted that the bad driving gene is my blood and that my mother was not to blame.
The back of dad's car was remodelled but I drove onto Heathrow via Woodlarks and all was well. Finally i have sorted out the car repairs and the bad news was today relayed to me: it is not worth repairing. Oh dear said I, as I prepared to call a recorded line as instructed by text. But then: oh joy of joys, apparently the scrap value after my father - who will now never drive again loses a no claims bonus - is £1600 to me.
Oh happy days. God looks after bad drivers such as myself in the most mysterious of ways.
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