Driving Lesson

So I was driving back from a quick visit to the seaside in my little Ford Ka with the soft top down, enjoying a suddenly warm and sunny afternoon when I pulled up at the traffic lights. Behind me, in a posher Peugeot, but also with top down was a blonde woman, tapping her hand on her wheel to the throbbing bass beat banging from her speakers.
‘Hmmph,’ I muttered, ‘at least I have the courtesy to turn down my radio when I stop at the lights.’ A few minutes later, we drove on. Through my mirror I could see that we looked similar, both with blonde curly hair and big sunglasses, but the real differences between us slowly seeped through my self-deceit and demanded to be recognised.
The real reason I turn my radio down at the lights is that I’m usually listening to Woman’s Hour on Radio 4, or the Archers, or the latest Stephen Fry on audiobook. I don’t listen to music that has a deep, pulsating bass drum much. Don’t like it anymore.
We might have looked similar, me and the lady in the car behind, but I bet there were at least twenty years separating us. There were lessons that had to be learned this afternoon.
So, dammit, I’m middle-aged, I like the Archers, and I’m out and proud. No more turning down the volume for me, beatboxers!

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