Shit off a shovel...

I am sorry to inform you all that I almost inadvertently soiled myself this evening.

There is no excuse, I am a grown woman.

Alas, there are occasions that you simply have no control over what your body does.

The evening had started quietly. Caught up with some paperwork for work, popped round to see my neighbour and spoke to the hobbits through the beauty of technology that is known as Skype.

Readers of my blog will be pleased to hear that the hobbits are having a fantastic holiday. They are relaxing at the beach, shopping, eating and sleeping...sounds like my kind of holiday.

At five to seven I received a text message from a very good friend... 'Your car is waiting outside.' Then a knock on the door.

All very Mission Impossible, but thankfully it wasn't Tom Cruise at the door, but my friend's husband...with keys.

These keys unlocked something far more interesting than his chastity belt and he led me to my friend's very nice, silver Mercedes SLK.

My friend is a bit of a superstar allowing me to borrow her car like this. It's her baby and it is slightly less important than her son, and slightly more important than her husband. Clearly this was the reason that why he was now in the passengers seat and she wasn't.

Turning on the engine and pulling onto the main road, I felt like a new driver all over again. This was, after all, my friends very new sports car and although she loves me dearly I am fairly sure that crashing it would not increase her love for me.

I have never driven an automatic before, but my friend's husband assured me that I would get used to it fairly quickly.

After nipping round a few roundabouts, I managed to get the car up to a very disappointing 60mph. You could almost hear my friend's husband scoffing at my attempt.

I protest that it had been raining, it was a different car to anything I had driven - but he was right my attempts were pretty pathetic.

We pulled over and swap seats...'Now shall I actually show you what this car can do?' he asks slyly.
I shrug nonchalantly, 'Ok'.

However, as I turn around to strap my seatbelt in, he asks 'Not a nervous passenger are you?'

He never actually got to hear my answer, as it disappeared back where my stomach was about half a mile back.

I wasn't actually aware of the speed we were doing, until we stopped at my friend's house, and he proudly informed me that we had hit 130mph as he peeled my face off the windscreen.

I don't think I have ever been in a position where every bodily function wants to leave every orifice - and at one point I didn't know whether to puke or pee... I actually remember distinctly wishing that we had agreed a safeword before starting on the journey.

I stepped out of the car with legs like jelly and an urgent need to attend to myself in the bathroom.

My friend's husband had a wicked smile that suggested that he was rather proud of scaring the living beejesus out of her mate.

However, it was bloody amazing, and a big major thank you goes to my friend and her husband who are about the best people anyone could know. Yeah, it was scary but bloody exhilarating at the same time and I wanna do it again.

But next time, can I do all the driving...?