I've had an extremely busy few weeks of late. My other half and I are in the throes of buying our first home together, a process with more stresses, trials and tribulations than I could possibly have imagined. I score a solid fifteen out of ten on the Naivety-o-meter. On top of all this, somebody told us that Christmas is on its way, giving us cause to spend money we haven't got buying presents that people don't want, and Xmas shopping has never ridden high on my pleasure-list.
We started on Saturday 26th of November, when we visited the Bury St Edmunds Christmas Fayre, an event I wish to discuss no further. But after a day of enforced generosity and unnatural philanthropy, we were exhausted. It did, however, give rise to a sensation that I've all-but forgotten about, and one which is worth expanding on.
The immense joy of being driven.
