Tipping seventy

The 2CV needed its MOT and, what with it being August in France, the only place still open was a 30 minute drive away. (under normal car conditions, an hour in a car older than myself).

Nico and I made a good team with me at the wheel and Nico on the gear stick.  The road was relatively flat and relatively straight but there was little chance we'd get stopped for speeding. 
In a 2CV you can go over sleeping policemen at 50km/h with no problems followed by the pleasant rocking sensation you get in a rowing boat when you cross the wake of a bigger boat.  Roundabouts are hairy, even at 30, because the car leans precariously into the curve, while you lean against it. 

We got there and she passed with flying colours.

I'd gained confidence on the drive home.  We passed two 1930's Citroên Tractions which flashed and beeped us, followed by another 2CV, the driver of which gave me a high five as we passed. 

Back in the seventies when we wound our way to Devon or Dorset in my parent's bright yellow Dyan 6, Bobby would always flash and beep passing aged Citroêns.  There was a camaraderie, as there was today.  It cheered me up, but I was glad to get the Old Girl back in the garage.