Honk if you love Jesus

Finally, after much stupidity on the part of Royal Mail (oh, ye who never delivers anything on time, except when it isn't important and no one wants it), my provisional British license has arrived. As per usual for any government-related document, I look like a much disfigured version of myself - although nothing will top my second U.S license where the photo printed dripped developer fluid on my picture so it looked like half my face had melted. This means that I can now...get ready to take a driving test. Again.

How on earth am I expected to pass a strangely quirky British driving test after I've been driving for almost 9 years, and they don't expect you to do common sense things. Checking your blind spot, for instance. As we don't have roundabouts, or impossibly tiny country roads in the States, I can kind of understand why they want me to take the test again. But at the same time, I've had my license for 9 years this year, and for god's sake I'm comfortable in a car. I'm from the States, after all. We practically exist in them.

So, wish me luck. I'll need it when I try to back around a corner up a hill in a stick shift without using my mirrors.