It’s going today. I have oh-so-reluctantly accepted that it really does have to go. I have put it with a covering letter into an envelope, which I shall take, addressed sealed and stamped, and drop in the pillar box with a tear in my eye.
I fought so hard to get it, it cost me not only blood, sweat and tears but also a small fortune in lessons and almost drove my instructor to a nervous breakdown; still, finally, after surmounting enormous obstacle and challenges, I managed it, I achieved it, I was virtually awarded it, and have cherished it ever since. It has made a huge difference to my life, giving me an independence I wouldn’t have enjoyed otherwise, and allowing me to be of use to others on many occasions. It is, indeed, one of my most treasured possessions. And I am giving it up, handing it in for safekeeping.
My precious from which I’m being parted is, as you will have surmised by now, my driving licence.. Once a driver reaches the Biblical age of three score years and ten the Swiss authorities in their pragmatic wisdom demand bi-annual medical proof of fitness to drive. In my case, having had some gruesome eye surgery, it’s my visual acuity that is – if you’ll pardon the expression – my Achilles’ heel. Last time, a minor miracle occurred ensuring that I was able to meet the requirements, but this time, in spite of all the last-minute optimism, my cataract operation was not performed in time for my doctor to be able to report satisfactory results for corrected vision. My uncorrected vision is wonderful, as I have already reported here., but it will take another few weeks for the eye to settle, and as the Swiss authorities had already granted me a six-month extension of the original deadline, there was no wiggle room left to extend it any further.
I must confess that I would not feel safe driving at present without some correction to my vision: I don’t drive in the UK anyway, because I am apprehensive of driving on the left and in spite of having grown up here, I don’t know my way around the roads of this area with their very dense traffic and incredibly aggressive drivers. Consequently, I don’t really need my licence at present.
God moves in mysterious ways. I was sure He would step in at the last minute and reprieve me. But He never does what I expect. All the same, having manned up like Abraham drawing the knife over Isaac, I have been provided with the equivalent of a ram caught in a thicket. I cling to the wording of the message I received, which says that I am depositing my licence with the Traffic Department, and it will be returned as soon as they receive the desired results. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me, and I shall eventually be equipped with suitable specs.
PS For the saga of how I acquired my driving licence click here