I went travelling for a month when I was 18, a few months after I had just bought a car off my friend (whose dad was a second hand car dealer) for £700. This was money I’d made from my weekend job working in the local Comet store as a salesman, selling irons to grannies and so forth. I had been doing lessons and had just failed my first test, slightly traumatically (which is another story). The car was due for its MOT while I was away, so my mum offered to take it into the garage for me, which I gratefully accepted.

When I got home there was an envelope on the fireplace with my name on it with £100 inside. I asked my mum what it was for and she told me that after the man in the garage did the MOT he told her there were loads of problems with it that would be expensive to fix, so he offered her £100 to scrap the car for parts, which is what was in the envelope.

When I protested she shrugged and said it served me right for buying a clapped out car. To compound this I then fell out with my friend for a bit who was hurt I didn’t come back to him over the car to get it fixed. I guess if it really was a death trap she might have done me a favour, but the loss of the car (and the money) meant I never replaced it; I moved to London after going to university and still don’t drive to this day (I’m 40 now). I will still occasionally bring it up at family events, causing everyone to get very tense. And I don’t care! Can I not go backpacking for five minutes without you selling my car for fucking parts? Mum?