So many stories...
... and here's another. Early 1980s, my friend John drove a shit-box piece of tin. It was white is all I remember about it. That and driving through St. Albans with Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five singing "White Lines", and him banging one hand on the roof and shouting "get off the roof, monkey!"

I don't think his father would have trusted him with anything more capable, and wisely so. John once phoned a mutual friend to say that his car was making one hell of a noise and he thought that the rear suspension was shot. Turned out he'd been driving on the grooves at the edge of the A5. Friend was not best-pleased to have a 90 minute round-journey, just to tell him to drive where he's supposed to.

John and I once passed a car on a roundabout. We were driving around the roundabout, while the other car was teetering on some under-carriage location, both wheels off the ground and spinning slowly. I have no idea how it got there, but as we carefully drove past, I bade John to slow down. As we drew level, through the open passenger window, I hollered "you can't park there, you know!" at the top of my lungs.

Dunstable, I think it was. Or maybe Hemel Hempstead. If it was you, I'm sorry. But you did give me a laugh.
(IHaveComeAmongThee__Twice Tissues on the left. Self-esteem on the right., Thu 22 Apr 2010, 21:52, Reply)