I was born to drive. If I’m not totally inebriated I will drive anywhere. I’ll drive for a few hours just to pick up a rudely shaped lollipop from Blackpool as readily as I will drive 20 metres around the corner to pick up a pack of JPS at the shop.

No, I’m not lazy, I’m just passionate about taking my metal, rouge dog Sam out for some exercise.

As an automobile enthusiast my natural enemy is the pedestrian. Man, I can’t stand them, doing all that walking about on their stupid legs in their stupid shoes getting stupid exercise!

I’m also partial to a bit of ranting and raving at cyclists, but that’s another story for another time.

Just like any other sane person with petrol flowing through their veins and a desire to under-use their lower limbs, I pity those who are forced to walk and scoff at those who chose to. At a zebra crossing the driver facing Sam and I will exchange a look, a look that says ‘Yeah, I see them, wearing down their Hi-Techs whilst we toast our cheeks on the heated seat… the fools.’

It’s a club that I never wanted to be booted out of, but fate had other intentions. Before you all start panicking, Sam is fine.

The reason I’m now sporting an array of unsightly blisters that resemble the bad guy’s face from Robocop is because I was forced to walk my brother’s dogs. Apparently they love going away for long weekends more than they love my once pristine and baby-soft tootsies.

Despite being relatively sunny lately, it was inevitable that any stroll I embarked upon was going to be accompanied by rain, tsunami or hurricane. It was showering on Friday morning and that was my first day of dog-sitting duties. The three dogs gazed up at me as if to question why I would take them out in rain and wind so cold that it defies the laws of science and actually burns your flesh.

I should have just sat in the car and let them wander out as far as the extender leads would let them, then they could have been home tucking into Pringles and watching He Man on YouTube.

Desperate to get home we reached the last road that it was necessary to cross. It was at this point that Dog 1 decided it needed to do its business. Dog 2 saw this as an opportunity to do a Steve McQueen and attempt to escape across the road, closely followed by a now much lighter Dog 1. Dog 3 was still chilling at this point so I found myself spread-eagled in the road receiving a pitiful look from at least one out of the three. It was like a medieval rack, minus the chains and plus wet dogs.

A bus was forced to brake and wait for me. I hung my head in shame – I was no longer a driver. I was a pedestrian, and an awful one at that.

The driver was MAD, especially when Dog 3 decided to ‘protest’, right in front of his bus, if you know what I mean.

Now I’ll happily go walkies with my little bouncer, doggy number 3. We usually take the car, mind you. But never the bus.