Mum's Skoda Estelle meant freedom - but it wasn't exactly cool | Rick Jackson

And it was something no 18-year-old wants to experience.

The advert was for a 1984 Skoda Super Estelle 120.

But there was nothing ‘super’ about the Skoda 120 I can tell you, apart for the freedom it offered.

I was still 17 when I passed my test and my mum kindly said I could drive her car until I could afford my own.

Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth now, it’s wheels for goodness sake!

For example, when I was 16, my mum let me ride her 50cc Honda Melody scooter, I didn’t care, I was free!

So what if the Skoda Super Estelle was the uncoolest car on the road, ridiculed by one and all with its 50 horse power engine in the rear.

I was the first of our group to drive, so we all bundled in mum’s pride and joy and went cruising around the streets, looking cool blaring out the Prodigy from the tinny stereo.

Driving also meant girls became more interested in you, as you could replace their dads as a taxi.

They too didn’t care about the badge, it was purely about the wheels, man!

Picture the scene: curtains haircut, black shell-suit with pink and purple relief driving a bright red Skoda Super Estelle 120 with a jet-black vinyl roof which was slightly sun-bleached.

I wanted to impress a girl, so I am breaking the 50mph speed limit – doing all of 55. I see a clapped out old Mini ahead, I plan my uber-cool overtaking move.

We are now parallel, I look over, and it’s a slightly older guy, also with a girl next to him.

Man, I’m looking so cool right now.

The flat road turns hilly, the Skoda runs out of power on the wrong side of the road as the Mini powers away, I am forced to swerve to avoid colliding with a bus.

The girl gets out of the car in tears, thinking her life was about to end either in the passenger seat of a Skoda or in the corridor of a double decker bus.

I never see her again.

I buy a Ford Escort.

It’s cruel, but proves Le Tour is a race to the very end

The toughest and cruellest sport delivered a crushing blow when someone won cycling’s Tour de France after only taking the lead in its penultimate stage.

With no Chris Froome or Geraint Thomas a Brit was no longer the favourite.

So when new favourite Slovenian Primož Roglič took the leader’s yellow jersey after stage nine of 21, the tour looked his.

He was impressively strong and on the penultimate day, all he had to do was have a decent time trial.

He’s very good at them so it was in the bag. He had his only bad day.

The rider in second, 21-year-old compatriot Tadej Pogacar had his best ride ever.

Roglic lost by just 59 seconds after three weeks of riding.

Savage.

Where was Doc Martin when I really needed him?

I’m currently nursing a seemingly innocuous injury picked up in the most simplest of ways – walking!

It’s been almost three weeks since our Cornwall camping holiday, but I’ve been struggling with a very tight calf. I went to a physio and the pull was put down to walking up too many hills.

Now I go to the gym three times a week, cycle and run. All these activities have injured me, but never walking!

Annoyingly, every time I walk I aggravate it. Still wearing shorts, my calf compress looks rather attractive, especially with an ice pack shoved down it.

Looking back, was that steep walk up to Doc Martin’s house in Portwenn really worth it?