IT was on Tuesday morning, as I faced a 200-mile journey on a Spanish motorway without a sat nav and just the Teen and an out-of-date map for assistance, that I longed for a husband.

I don’t really like motorway driving in the UK, it’s something about high speed and getting lost that frightens me.

But driving at high speed on the right, through mountains and unable to decipher Spanish signs scared me more.

No one seemed to get my anxiety, which rendered me mute the previous day, so jangled were my nerves.

I spent several hours judging how long the journey would take if I bailed out on the AP-7 in favour of the scenic N332.

I rang Granny to discuss.

“Don’t be a blinking idiot. It will take you days on that road. The motorways are fine, there is no traffic, not like in the UK. If I can do it, you can. Head for Cartagena and then Alicante. See you after lunch.”

Humph. She has a beefed up, wide-wheeled mini. My wobbly Corsa doesn’t like speed or hills, as I think I have previously mentioned.

Anyway, I had no choice but to get on with it. The only reason I didn’t bail on the trip is that the Teen and I love her and her husband John to pieces and we haven’t seen her for a year.

So I held my breath and drove onto the empty motorway.

Admittedly it took me a while to get into it and a lorry became my security blanket for about 60 miles, with me tailing him at 70kph.

“For goodness sake mum, you are driving at about 40mph behind this weaving lorry who probably isn’t going to Granny’s. You are ridiculous.”

It was only when I could no longer put up with the Teen’s incessant complaints that I eventually overtook.

And then it was fine. I even got onto the correct lane at Cartagena by myself.

We arrived at Granny’s just after lunch.

“Can’t believe it kid,” said John. “I was on standby thinking I was going to have to come and find you.”

It had to be said that I was very pleased with myself indeed. Another fear that had been overcome.

So Dear Reader, I have overcome three hang-ups in the last two weeks.

I have dealt with Spanish motorways, flying and nudist beaches (yep, I stripped off and I can assure you it had nothing to do with the jug of Sangria or my friend’s €50 bet).

Go Me.

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