&*%%$#&

Not my car. Unfortunately...

Reading posts by others is often a game of remembrance for me. They write about how and where the drove cars and I remember the time I got my dad to curse like a docker. Something he is not prone to do at all at all! My dad is after all a nice man who doesn't curse. Unless it's to do with a hammer and his thumb. Or me driving onto a motorway.

Now, you have to picture the scene in your head. A young innocent girl (don't laugh) got her driver's license in the UK. Bought a car and when she moved back to the motherland, she took said car back. Occasionally something would be wrong with said car and it would need some tlc. Which was usually given by one of my dad's many colleagues. I don't know what he did on a day to day basis, but in the evenings he would take care of cars, mine being one of them. 

One day I had to leave my little red Fiat Panda behind and my dad allowed me to drive his car back home. All went smoothly, all went well. And then I was about to join the motorway. Well, hammers and thumbs in the way were nothing compared to me doing that! My dad went from a gentle man to a dockworker in a matter of milliseconds. 

I realised my mistake and reversed and when I took the proper entrance to the motorway (my dad still muttering at my side), we saw what we would have met had I continued on. A large lorry and trailer! I was not allowed to drive his car for a while after that. 

And if you haven't got the whole picture clear in your head yet: I drove the car up the exit ramp. Into oncoming traffic. Becoming a ghost driver (as they call them in the Netherlands). About to become a proper ghost driver (as in the dead version driver).