I love driving and on certain nights I feel I could drive to the end of the earth.
Last week the boss booked me in to hear a speaker in Bristol.
Oooh good a whole two and a half hours driving on my own. Yes, I am that person sat at the traffic lights singing at the top of her voice with a front seat full of empty drinks cartons, assorted CD's for every mood and a range of chocolate wear.
"You wouldn't mind if you took someone up with you, would you?" the boss said on Friday "He's newly qualified and his car is in the garage, he would really like to go".
"No, fine" I said through gritted teeth "don't mind, not at all".
First he moaned about the leg room in my more than speedy, microbe on wheels. I admit there was some resemblence on his part to 'Noddy', but I bit my lip as he was only young.
Then he asked if there was anything else on CD rather than my beautiful Madeleine Peyroux.
He then proceeded to tell me where I was going wrong in my job and ate my toblerone without even asking!
After a stop at the services, where I lost him for about 30 minutes (nearly went without the little git) he made up for it by telling me that he thought I looked younger than my age by about eight years. I liked him again for about ten miles.
When we got to the conference the dread of the return journey started to itch at the back of my head. I love driving and this spotty oik had ruined my chances of that rare time spent completely on my own.
I found him at the end of the conference talking to one of the esteemed speakers.
"Oh by the way" he said as I tried to stop his mouth from ruining the reputation of every education establishment in the southwest, "I'm staying at my aunty's in Bristol tonight"
I would have kissed him but the acne on his cheeks looked a bit dodgy, so I jumped in the car, turned up Jeff Buckley (Hallelujah) and drove off for 2 hours and 47 minutes of pure bliss