So there I was, halfway up a Welsh mountain, in pouring Welsh rain, standing beside a drowned car stuck sideways across a narrow Welsh track. How? Why? Basically, because I was young and foolish, brain cells left at home, batteries not included. If there had been a Nobel Prize for stupidity 40 years ago, my name would have been on the shortlist. But you knew that already, didn't you?
To elaborate, let’s rewind a few hours. The year was 1979 and my predicament was the consequence of a day trip to celebrate the arrival of my new driving licence. The choice of car was down to Mr Hobson, ie. the family’s dynamically beige Simca 1100 GLS, hopefully good for a tour of the Principality, if slightly frayed around the edges.…
