June 17th (Tues)

It's over to Aylesbury again for another two hour dose of S. We drive endlessly round and round the sleepy estate in Princes Risborough. Progress is minimal and the poor girl shows an almost total lack of empathy with the car, the road, the gearbox,anything. It's an incredible performance.
Over to Hyde Heath next and A, who's test it is.She's a totally competent driver, yet she refuses to believe in her ability. The poor girl wobbles like a blancmange at the thought. I try to make her laugh, and she drives over with the radio on and up loud. She is gasping for breath and looking as though death awaits around the corner. I am worried,but she is still driving well enough.
F the examiner sees her and immediately sees the problem. He is lovely with her, doing all he can to calm her nerves. I sit in the back. She gets a bay park to do. She grinds the gears. A first for her. I fear the worst,but then, she parks perfectly. "Perfect" enthuses F, an unusual but so helpful comment. After that she seems right as ninepence and drives like a dream. 4 minors and she's where she should be, on the road with full licence.
It's a pleasant day, as predicted by the weather girl on "Breakfast" It's the first day of Royal Ascot, and for some reason it is deemed necessary to tart up the met office bird in hat and heels and ship her off to Ascot to read her autocue from there. Apparently these days to be a weather bod it's compulsosry to be Scottish,female,and unreasonably cheerful at any hour of the day or night.
Malc turns up. His boss has fucked off to Ascot in a horse drawn carriage, whilst back at base they have no fuel. Vive la Revolution.