Driving Licence Eater

Driving Licence Eater.

 

My 12 year old SUV went in for a standard service this week. "Leave it with us Sir. Be ready in 2 hours for you".

 

Only there was a problem. They had to order a part and it wouldn't arrive until the next day.

 

Major problem for me as I had a journey of 80 miles planned that very evening. "No problem Sir. Let me see what I can do for you".

 

"We do have a car you can borrow overnight Sir. It's a six speed, racing red, turbo charged sports car. Would that be acceptable to you?".

 

I swallowed hard and managed to say, "That will do nicely thank you."

 

I folded myself into the low slung beastie and have never had such a big grin on my face. The car was fantastic and exhilarating to drive. I only had one problem with it. If I owned it, I would lose my licence in a week.

 

The lightest touch on the accelerator pedal (compared to my ancient, automatic SUV) would send it screaming like a red and black demonic banshee into the dark night. It was fabulous and it was a huge treat.

 

Strangely, my boringly planned, "there and back" journey of 80 miles suddenly became 120 miles of exhilarating driving pleasure and mysterious detours on twisty, winding roads.

 

This curvy, little red demon went round corners like she was on rails.

 

I reluctantly returned the keys the following day (grinning from ear to ear) and put that one down to a red letter day experience to be repeated ad nauseum in the Old Folks Home, when that day finally comes to me.

 

Like Jenny Joseph, who sadly died this week, I'm going to "wear purple" when that time of my life eventually comes a'calling.

 

Jenny Joseph's poem - "WARNING".

 

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit.

 

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

 

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

 

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

 

Jenny Joseph wrote this poem when she was 29 years old.

Done