I like driving. 

Not in a “petrol head, glued to every grand prix, tear up the roads” kind of way, but I do enjoy it and am happy to cover long distances.  But (much as I hate to be a stereotype) I was until recently a rotten parker.

I don’t really know why.  A lack of spatial awareness and internal compass were certainly major factors (I grew up in a village that had a total of four roads but still managed to get lost regularly). But also, I learned to drive on country roads and in a tiny car.  A black mini cooper estate that was older than my grandparents, with wooden trim, a choke, and windows you had to wind down manually.  Oh how I loved that car; it looked like a speeding blackhead.  But it was miniscule and I only ever had to park in big car parks so I never really faced that “now or never, we’re all watching and waiting, squeeze in and breathe in” torture that is parallel parking.

And then I moved to London, and had kids, and so I had a bigger car.   And I had to bite the bullet because you can merrily drive around London all day with a car full of wailing kids and the only parking space that will open up are ones better suited to a micro scooter. 

I have to confess I cheated, and booked three extra driving lessons for the sole purpose of teaching me to park.  I then spent a terrifying few years irritating van drivers into apoplectic fury as I shuffled back and forth into spaces that could fit a bus, eventually parking, in a manner of sorts, only a short walk from the kerb.  “Not so much parked as abandoned” was my M.O.  It’s horrible and humiliating and very stressful but I just couldn’t help being bad at it. 

I suppose it must have happened over such a long time that I didn’t really notice.  Shuffle by shuffle, inch by inch, I got better.  I worked out where my wheels were and how long my car was and what sort of angle different spaces needed.

And then last week, out of the blue, came confirmation that I’m actually pretty slick at this now. I was driving up the road, late as usual, and desperate to find somewhere to park. There was a space but it was on the opposite side of the road. I stopped, indicated right, and waited.  A white van driver saw me.  He looked at the car, looked at the titchy space I was indicating at, and smirked.  Then he flashed his lights to let me pull across the road and into the space.  He clearly thought I had no hope of getting in. I swear I saw him break open some popcorn and sit back for the show.

I pulled over, and reversed into the space in one easy movement, with literally an inch to spare at either end.  I looked at the van driver, expecting him to be disappointed.  Instead the cheeky bugger grinned, leaned forwards, and gave me a loud round of applause out of the window.  I should have been insulted, I suppose, since he clearly expected a woman driver to be a dreadful parker. But to my shame I was secretly pleased.  I gave him my best serene smile, tossed my mane, and walked away.

All the while wondering how the hell I was going to get out of that titchy space……….