This week correspondence arrived from the police suggesting my foot is too heavy.
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More particularly it seems my foot was too heavy when it was placed on the accelerator pedal in our car at 7.38am one recent Saturday morning near Wellsford.
Naturally I was somewhat surprised at this development.
I have been driving for the better part of 40 years and, apart from crashing my dad's powerful Holden Torana automatic through the far end of the garage at home one day - in my defence I was more used to my own car at the time which was a Mini with two elastic bands controlling the speed - I've basically got a squeaky clean driving record.
I say "basically". My teenage self did get stopped a couple of times on the West Coast for driving a tad too quick in the rain. (I know what you are thinking: Rain on the West Coast! Whatever next?).
However, on both occasions the traffic officer merely barked "Slow down!" before quickly retreating to the dry refuge that was his patrol car.
Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that in terms of actual infringement notices being issued this was my first.
So, as a total novice, I scanned the paperwork for the advice on what to do next.
Now all this took place under the watchful, and frowning, gaze of Mrs P who had earlier grabbed the envelope from our letterbox and, as is her practice, opened it.
That I had been driving home - a little too quickly obviously - at Sparrow Fart to see my beloved after a week away for work did not win me any dispensation from Mrs P.
My actions were, she said, both irresponsible and dangerous.
She was right, of course, and I knew I'd have to stand there and take the dressing down just like I did when I was up before the principal at Greymouth High School in 1979.
Luckily this time there would be no cane at the end of the ritual humiliation and, instead of having to stand there trying to project an acceptable level of "don't give a toss" attitude in front of my classmates, I was able to look down and fully read the infringement notice as it went on.
There was one particular section which caused me to smile and another section allowing me to challenge the fine and go to court.
I dealt with the second one first.
"I think I'll dispute it," I told my beloved.
A novice herself in terms of infringement notices - though how she never got arrested for that red wine-inspired episode involving dancing on the table at that 40th we went to a few years back I'll never know - Mrs P reckoned I should man up, accept full responsibility and pay the fine.
"That's just silly," she said. "The speed camera caught you, they've got your details on file and they've sent you the fine."
Laughing (not all the way to the bank I should add) I then got to the second section of the notice which had earlier caused me to smile. The bit that Mrs P as the registered owner of the vehicle had overlooked when she ripped open the envelope containing the infringement notice.
It was addressed to her and the fine was in her name.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com