My dad is eighty-nine with
a gammy leg and a twelve year-old Ford Fiesta that he can no longer drive, and
my son is seventeen, learning to drive and more keen to practice in my car than
I am willing to risk, so one solution, happily embraced by both parties, was to
transfer the said Fiesta across a couple of generations, so today the boy and I
took the train down to Manchester and my dad handed his last car over to be his
grandson’s first; my role (middle man in more ways than one) was to arrange the
tax and insurance, do the necessary DVLC paperwork, bump start the
flat-batteried vehicle, and do the two hour drive back home.
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