It's drive time

My driving instructor is calling for me in 1.5 hours and I'm feeling less of a girl racer with every passing minute. It's bringing back memories of driving lessons circa 1992 when I was 17, clammy palmed and sweating like billio. Not much has changed it seems, except I'm 16 years older and ought to be a seasoned pro behind the wheel by now.  Instead, I'm nervous for me and scared for the people of Horsham. If I survive the two-hour crash (ahem!) course, I will share the tale.