I passed my driving test today. (Yes, the many good friends and family members who have rightly ribbed me for many years, you read that right).
My old buddy and former rugby teammate Richard Beggs and I took lessons together at school in 1989 when I was a sprightly 17 (and Richard was, well, 17 - let's leave it at that). It was a two-hour lesson - an hour each in the driving seat with the other in the back making faces in the mirror.
However, over the course of time, my driving instructor and I failed to see eye to eye and I did that brainless teenage "I'll show him" thing - by stopping lessons. What a hero (aka idiot).
And then the years moved on - I went to study in Newcastle, back to Belfast for a few years, moved to London - and driving wasn't top of my priority list.
Vanessa and I eloped to Yorkshire in 2003 and getting my licence should have become an instant priority. I did take some lessons but wasn't a big fan of my new instructor or the one after that so I "parked" the whole idea once more (partly because I wasn't very good at parking).
Another three years went past until I had another go, by this time when I was working in Harrogate and found an absolute gent of an instructor. But the problem was time. I had accepted a job in Bradford and was only left with a few weeks to try to get through my test before the new role took over.
The first two tests were pretty much disastrous. I came close third time around but still no cigar. Game over.
Or so I thought.
In March of this year, my great pal Edmund Conybeare generously decided to mark my 52nd birthday by getting me a surprise driving lesson with the best driving instructor on the planet (and I should know, having seemingly met most of them).
Fiona Poole had successfully guided Ed's eldest daughter Helena through her test first time and was in the process of doing the same with her sister Eva (mission since accomplished).
So, on 20 April, I climbed into Fiona's car for my first lesson. And five months to the day - yes, today - I passed my test. Yes, it was fourth time, but not really because Fiona was a long time away from being a driving instructor when I crashed and burned three times 18 years ago.
It's not an exaggeration to say that driving has dominated my life over the past few months but especially over the past three weeks. Fiona managed to fit me in for lessons every day this week - three of them for two hours. And without that level of intensity and her clear understanding of those aspects of driving at which I was particularly shite, I would not have stood a chance today.
It will take me a little while for the new reality to sink in - 1989 is a long time ago - but I'm excited about the new possibilities a driving licence will offer. A driving licence. An actual driving licence. I've got a driving licence.
I will shortly be raising a glass to that happy fact (but will leave the car at home for one more night).
Thank you Fiona, you're an absolute star.