Confessions of a speeding granny

I suppose it was going to happen. But not inevitably. After 66 years behind the wheel, I’ve finally gotten a speeding ticket. In France.

During those years, I’ve put the pedal to the metal in an Alfa Romeo (Spider Veloce with Weber carburetors), a zippy MG (my mother’s), a 375HP Corvette Stingray (my first husband’s), occasionally an e-type belonging to a friend and a swanky but stodgy Mercedes. A French camera finally caught up with me as I was ripping up a Burgundian country road from Nolay to Autun, going 105 kph in a 90 kph zone in my new (to me) Mini Cooper.

My grandchildren have begun to love ‘Puddle’ as much as (or more than) they love me. They’re especially amused by the name I’ve given the little car, short for ‘puddle jumper’: in French slang, it refers to a small airplane. It’s apt in this case, as I was flying in ‘Puddle’ to get back to Meursault to fetch them from school after buying an armoire for the little house that I’ve bought in a village of 2,000 residents and 80 vineyards.