In late January 1989 I was 25-years-old and newly married. My husband and I had saved up and bought a car which we took turns using. My mother was away on holidays for a couple of weeks and had asked me to look after her house but she was very particular about her car and I was not allowed to drive it.
I decided that I was a pretty good driver so I would use her car anyway (she'd never know). All was going very well until I was driving along Punt Road. I was approaching the intersection of Swan Street. Some poor frazzled mum was trying to get out of the service station on the corner and nobody would let her out so I slowed down and waved her through. She gratefully entered the traffic, only to have the lights change on her as she was a couple of metres into the intersection. Instead of just going, she suddenly stopped.
Then she reversed. With a heavy jolt – right into my mother's car.
We pulled over to exchange details and, as we stood at the roadside, I looked at my mother's car just in time to see the entire bumper bar fall off onto the road in one last gesture.
The next week was a mad rush to get the car repaired before my mother came back from her holiday. When she did arrive back, she called me to thank me for cleaning her car so nicely.