It was when the wheels on the elegant white car in front of me started to spin that I started to panic.
I was driving our Suzuki Grand Vitara in a snow storm for the first time in my life.
I was 45 years old.
I could have panicked and, as a much younger person, I probably would have.
But last night I didn't. I now have a mature mind.
I slipped the car into 4WD and confidently passed the other car, which was now painfully zig-zagging towards the peak of the range just outside Canelli.
A few minutes later I was at home and dressed in my pink and brown flannelette pyjamas. Within seconds I was tucked up in bed enjoying the warm heat of the electric blanket on my back. The snow was long forgotten.
A few hours later I was awake and dressed in my 'round the house' winter garb. I was looking out of the bedroom window at a valley that lay thick and heavy with snow. I was challenging the clods of snow on the trees, teasing each of them, hoping that I'd be watching the unlucky one when it finally fell silently to the ground. I laughed and clapped my hands when I won.
I love my mind. I love the way it alternates between maturity and childishness.