In 2006, I was hit head-on by a drunk driver in Colorado. While I escaped serious physical injuries, the event left me mentally traumatised and I suffered flashbacks for years. One of the unexpected joys of living and working in London was the proliferation of public transportation options.
I spent many happy years without driving, though I did my fair share of grumbling about the freezing cold train platforms waiting for connections on the evening commute or the packed tubes with dodgy men and their wandering hands or the seemingly endless number of people coughing on me.
But I knew when we moved to Yorkshire that I’d have to get behind the wheel again. And in the past two weeks, I’ve driven more miles than in the previous five and half years down south. And, slowly, very slowly, I’m starting to remember the joys of driving. Continue reading