Big German cars, moist palms and 'flying' solo on the first day on the job

I'd had a fairly clear idea of what my first day as a proper working journo would entail. A few re-written press releases, a bit of noodling around on the phone, and the usual rigmarole of getting settled in to a new office.

It was all going swimmingly when my editor dropped a set of car keys on my desk and told me I'd have to drive somewhere to get some quotes. On my own. In an unfamiliar car. For the first time since passing my test five weeks ago.

He didn't know that this what it meant for me, of course, but I could already feel my palms getting sweaty. I started shifting uncomfortably in my seat. 'Bricking it' is a phrase that comes to mind.

Happily, I survived. By the time I'd shifted into gear and pulled out onto the High Street I was already having the time of my life.

On the journey back I'd barely left South Woodford before turning on the radio and unrolling the windows to let the the sweet late summer air. On arriving in Epping, part of me wished the drive was longer and I could just keep going.

The only potential blight on an otherwise perfect journey came at the very end, as I parked up on my return to the office. After spectacularly misjudging my entry into a bay I very nearly scraped the side of a Porsche Cayenne, which I managed to evade by no more than an inch or so.

As I struggled into the space, I glanced up and there, walking across in front of me, was a middle-age bloke in an expensive suit, who disappeared into the staff entrance of a bookmakers wearing a concerned expression that said something along the lines of: "Don't touch my car you little oik, or I'll have your arse."

I got out of the car and looked down at the white line next to my foot, unmistakably on the wrong side of his front wheel.