Most men, when they reach the point of a mid-life crisis, will either get a motorcycle, a bright red sports car or a mistress.
As we were driving up to Leicester this morning, I was once again reminded just how shockingly bad my eyesight is. Unless medical science can pull off some sort of miracle, there is no way in hell I will be able to get a driver’s license. This therefore means that I have only one option for a mid-life crisis, but I have been told (by Katy) that I am not allowed to get a mistress.
What is a man to do?