A friend has been prompted to look back over some of my old blogs, checking for any advice she can pass on to another friend, who has had a recent Parkinson’s diagnosis. “I notice,” she writes, “that you don’t do it anymore.” (Meaning, I’m assuming, writing the blog, rather than having Parkinson’s. If only…)

Do I not? It can’t be that long ago since…

Ah. December 2022. Well, who knew? Apart from my friend, of course, the canny lass.

It’s possible that nothing has happened in the last two and a half years to merit a blog. Or perhaps I’m just ‘scruciating idle. Or both, in fact – the two – to quote my niece Ezza (a woman of infinite resource and sagacity) – are not mutually exclusive.

Anyway, this is where we are. The question now is where should we be and – more to the point – how the flip are we going to get there?

I’ve just picked up Nantes and Chantenay from school: they are on scooters; I’m on Shanks’s.  Since you last met him, Nantes has turned seven: he’s a chap of many questions, and has just asked, perfectly reasonably, which way are we going home. Are we taking the path down past the allotments to the carpark, where I’ll tetris the scooters into the boot before driving to my place? Or are we heading straight to their house in a “them-on-the-scooters/me-puffing-along-behind” combo?

“The thing is,” I say, “I’m not allowed to drive anymore.”  Since about a month ago, in fact.

“Why?”

“Well, you know how I’ve got this thing called Parkinson’s which sometimes makes this hand and this foot shake …”   He does.  “So, sometimes now the shaking starts when I’m not expecting it to – even when I’ve taken my special tablets.  And if I’m driving the car at the time, then the car gets all shaky, which could be quite fun but isn’t very safe.  I talked to my doctor about it and we decided that the most sensible thing is for me not to drive anymore.  So today you and Chantenay are going to scoot to your house and I’m going to walk really fast to keep up with you. ”

 “Are you too shaky for your bike?”

“I think so.  Come on – let’s catch up with your sister!”

Chantenay is waiting for us at the crossing.  We wave our thanks to the paused cars, cross over and head into the park.   Chantenay scoots on ahead but Nantes pauses. 

“You could ride a scooter!  Then you only have to use one leg – and you can use your not‑shaky one.”

“Well, that is an idea. Thanks.  I’ll think about that. Now – race you to the gate.”  

In truth, it’s taking a bit of getting my head around – this not-driving lark.  I know I’m fortunate to live in a town with good transport links – and free with my travel card, forsooth.  The evenings are light, the weather’s been kind and it’s good for me to walk. I’ll deal with winter when it comes. That’s why God created Uber. It’s fine.

Well, it’s not.  But it will be.

Scooters, huh?