Having given up a considerable amount of ground in the matter of the muscle truck, Mother Bigger was intent on making sure her erratic spouse would at least be able to drive it properly.
Had she been less irritated, though, she might have been more persuasive.
“There are,” she said, “towing courses available at the gliding club. Shall I sign you up for one?”
Brenda winced. “Silly woman. He won’t never lie down for that.”
“Sign me up for one what?”
“Sign you up for a towing course. You’ve never towed before.”
“A course? Why? How hard can it be?”
An everyday story of concrete folk: Twelve
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