I tried to get out of it but not so that it was obvious. My heart was pounding, my stomach muscles (what’s left of them) were flexed, almost painfully. I tried to relax. I forced myself to relax and it almost worked.

When I was a kid of about 10 or 12, when my father would take us to visit someone and we were off-road (I.e. on a private driveway or lane) and there was a gate to open we would, of course, be made to get out of the car and open the gate. Then close it afterwards.

I’m not sure how this started or who instigated it because now it seems such a stupid thing to have done but, as a treat, we would then put our feet on the back bumper and grip the back window sides and he would drive forward with us hanging on the back. It was thrilling. To us, he seemed to go very fast. In reality, I expect, it was no more than 5 miles per hour.

Until one day, that is.

On that fateful day it was only me. I jumped out to open the gate and, after he had driven through he stopped whilst I closed the gate and I jumped on the back. It was summer. I was wearing shorts and a light shirt. I don’t remember who we were going to visit. I remember that the lane curved around some hill so that you couldn’t see the house we were visiting. The driveway/lane was gravel.

I jumped on the back of the car as usual. I was wearing sneakers (or pumps, as we used to call them). My father started moving forward. After several minutes I felt my pumps starting to slip from the bumper. My fingers tried to grip the window edge more tightly but I could not use the edge to haul myself up. I shouted to those in the car. They thought I was really enjoying it so my father sped up a little. I shouted more. My pumps slid further off the bumper.

I guess I must have slid off the back of the car. I landed on my stomach and travelled for a short distance along the gravel. I don’t know why I didn’t just jump off the car, as was asked of me later. At the time, I guess, I just didn’t think of that in my extreme panic.

I remember only the consequences. I chipped a tooth, have a scar on my top lip, had a piece of gravel lodged in my elbow (until, eventually, my parents took me to a doctors to have it removed as it hadn’t come out on its own) and, probably the worst, the whole of my chest was as if I had taken a cheese grater to it for 10 minutes.

It seemed that, for weeks afterwards, my mother was bathing it with salt water and all the lacerations became scabby. It can’t have been that bad since I have no scars.

However, the idea of travelling at speed without having something solid around me scares the shit out of me.

So here I am, my stomach muscles tight, travelling at speed and no protection, wearing shorts and a t-shirt with sandals. I cannot grip. My hand is in some sort of fist. Behind me there is nothing – except the hard, unforgiving ground. I feel myself start to slip back. I hunch forward, hoping that I can just hang on a little longer. The pink thing covering my head clashes with the black one in front. I try to sit back a little. My feet are on nothing much more than the bumper of the past. This time the speed is too fast to allow me to just jump off. A couple of times, at a stop, I seriously contemplate jumping off. My feet are sweating, my hands are sweating, I would be shaking were it not for the fact that my whole body is holding itself so taught, it almost hurts.

I keep telling myself that I must relax. The slipping I feel is not real – or is it? Your mind plays tricks on you. The adrenaline rush is telling me to fight or flee. I’m poised as if fighting but my head says flee.

There is a small gap. Surely we cannot fit through there? My legs involuntarily close a little. Logic says that my knees will not be hit but logic really isn’t working very well right now.

Finally it is over. How long has it been? One hour, two? It seems like forever although I know it’s been about 15 minutes.

My body relaxes some half hour or so later.

It started unexpectedly. We were going to see ‘The Hulk’ (in Italian). We would go to the 6 p.m. showing. At quarter past 5, N said that we should go.

‘Shall we take the tram or shall I take my bike and you two go on the scooter?’, she asks.

S replied that we could do the bike/scooter option.

I suggested we could take the number 1 tram.

N wasn’t so keen. I said it would take less than half an hour by the tram and it goes right to the piazza outside La Scala.

It was decided we would do the bike/scooter option. I did, almost, think of suggesting that they could do the scooter and I could take the tram.

N was worried about the pink helmet I would have to wear. For me, the helmet colour was not the issue. It could have been dayglow pink with flashing lights and blaring horns for all I cared. I think, if I had had the choice, I would have chosen to jog, naked (apart from the pink helmet), down to the cinema rather than be on a scooter.

We walk downstairs and out onto the street. I almost wish we find the scooter had been stolen or S had forgotten where he had parked it.

I know! It’s a stupid thing and you will probably think I am a complete wimp. I agree. However, I guess, this thing that happened all those years ago is still with me which is why I have never ridden a scooter or motorbike in my life. There is no protection.

Still it adds to my collection of ‘firsts’ since I’ve been in Italy which is a good thing. And I did survive, after all. Maybe next time I’ll be complaining about having to have a pink helmet (although I think it’ll take a few more times than that, personally).

Also, in breaking news; I have my own car parking place at work with my initials on!! This is not such a WOW! moment as you may think but at least I don’t have to go hunting round the place for a place, which is good.

For two years now, I have been parking at the front of the building in one of the visitors areas. However, our new Health & Safety guy (otherwise known as the Assistant to the MD, or MD’s lackey, as you wish) has decided (hmm, was it really him?) that we needed to have better parking regulations. So, all the Directors and Managers have parking spaces allotted at the front (along with some other random people who don’t fit in that category) and I have been relegated to a place round the back.

On the bright side, the car is now in shade all day and under cover. And I have my own personal space. On the downside, it is further to walk (by about 3 yards). Who cares? I just rode pillion on a scooter last night; a parking place with or without my name on it is really not that important!