She called it my ‘therapy time’. Apparently, I was a vastly different style of driving instructor to her friends’ parents
At the end of our street is a mostly empty car park dotted with bags of dumped McDonald’s rubbish, dying pot plants and graffiti. The council recently installed a bank of charging stations for electric vehicles, so sometimes a line of Teslas is now parked, strangely out-of-place in this mess.
This car park has been home to many firsts in my family. The first time my son road a bike without training wheels. The first time we carried our cat on a late-night walk in a shopping bag. And the first time my daughter drove a car.
