Keith and I were having a nostalgia moment.
"This time last year," I remarked, "we were not far off going to France."
"Hmmm, not much chance of that this year," Keith said sadly.
"Well, I could drive."
I noticed a sharp movement as Keith cowered in his wheelchair, a look of abject terror on his face.
"Ooooh, no," he quavered. "All that road rage!"
"But I could do road rage in French," I suggested persuasively. "I could even do the arm-waving."
Keith cowered even further.
"Maybe you'd like to get yourself to the shop today," I said acidly.