I've been driving in my car.. It's not quite a Jaguar...

Well, it's over.

The hassling, the haranguing, the heckling, the harrassing, the hooting of derision, the horrors...

We've given in and bought a car for him...

And how do I feel? As if a great dark wing has been lifted from around my shoulders.

I had wanted to put this moment off... And we have, at least until most of the bad weather has subsided... but he needs a car to be able to travel to local sports centres, if he's going to work his way through College, starting this summer as a lifeguard. And we have no public transport chez nous.

De nada. Zilch. Postman Pat's Postbus, in fact.

Grizz passed his driving licence last year with flying colours... You might remember.

And I feared, as only a dramatic mad, manic, mama can, that only disaster lay ahead...

I've seen the car written off, (like our neighbour's son's - James was a passenger that day, remember - A year ago?!)

I've seen twisted and mangled metal, steri-strips and bandages...

And I worried, and worrited, and wondered, and wibbled, and whined, and wittered, and I might even have 'wined.'

But no more. The deed is done and dusted. We pick the car up on Wednesday. A 'Y' Reg Ford Focus Zetec previously owned by a non-smoking, tee-total elderly widower-man from Sunderland -- A gentleman who only drove the car to Church to teach Sunday School and never, not ever, crashed the car...

No.

My man-child has wheels.

Gird your loins, and mind you lock up any loose animals.

Especially if you're a Postman called Pat, owner of a black and white cat, name of Jess!