Repo-Man

Feeling dangerously good today. After a frosty start it was summer, I swear, at noon. Repo-ed my wee car from H-etc's this morning, since the years' ban expired yesterday. I knew beforehand it wouldn't start as its engine was flooded, but the AA were most prompt and by 10.30 am I was back on the road, feeling like a new L driver. The muscle memory for driving comes back instantly, but that subliminal timing at roundabouts- the judgment of other cars' spaces and intention- is still warming up. They were the worst when I first passed The Test fourth time. I recall on my first nighttime drive waiting forever at Slateford roundabout for what I considered a safe space, while drivers behind queued up and honked aggressively.

To get some driving practise and exercise the engine, I was off to an edge- of-town H&M, needing a replacement for the wide-legged black linen trousers recently ruined by candlewax and furthermore tempted into sinful extra spending on a cotton dress @ £15. It's entirely an impulse buy, with a white background and an orange+black psychedelic print: impractical for outdoor pursuits like dogwalking and camping. I expect to hate it tomorrow, but today it suits my mood and £15 is only 26% of a week's Income Support. Peter Ballocks tells me that I'm entitled to £100 pounds clothing allowance from the DWP when I sign off this month, so write it off as mad money.

I feel like the cat when she takes her turns skeetering up and down the hall at 1 am. R. wants to plan another road trip up north, like the one in ~2003 when we toured National Trust gardens and Historic Scotland sites of interest in Sutherland. She's suggested the Pictish trail up the northeast this spring, and who am I to demur as long as we can bypass Balmoral. Today I have a possible job, a car and freedom.

Addendum:

Someone's bricked in Nigel Griffith's constituency office window, with the epicentre of the strike right on his blown-up window-wrapped nose, and it wasn't even I.