When I awoke I found myself at the wheel of my mother’s silver Volvo automatic heading downhill at top speed along a high-hedged, narrow country lane. I bounced across the roundabout at the bottom, lost a wheel, and landed the car on a grass verge. Within minutes the police were on the scene, and I was taken into custody.

The police station was in chaos. I wondered how anyone managed to make sense of the mess of evidence scattered all over the place to make a single conviction.

When I spotted a Volvo wheel hub on the floor, I knew that this single artefact would seal my fate. I prayed that my mother would never hear of my motoring misdemeanours.