To get to, and from, work every morning and mid-afternoon, I get money from the Access to Work scheme which just about pays for an Uber. It’s both a useful and entertaining experience, even if most of my communication with Uber drivers appears to be focused on “yes, you can go into the staff car park; no, I’m genuinely staff”.

The majority of Uber drivers in my area are, by and large, very nice people, which is good, because on outward appearance they all appear to be gruff older men who could easily turn racist at the drop of a hat. Those listening to LBC on their radio are the ones that I have to watch out for.

In any case, friendly as my drivers are, I’ve never hopefully been on the look-out for the fabled “hottest Uber driver you’ve ever had”. My sexual orientation dictates that it should be someone at the very least a little bit femme, and since I have had around three female Uber drivers in the five or so years I’ve been doing this job. My favourite female Uber driver – a friendly, chatty woman in a hijab who uses a fresh vanilla car scenter – is lovely, but not exactly what I’d call hot.

Of course, it’s all subjective anyway. What’s hot to one person may not be so for another person.

And then this happened.

The last time I took an Uber there was a fair amount of commotion on the roads. I had to wait eleven minutes for the app to find me a driver and then another eleven for her to turn up – which is increasingly a thing that happens, but it does mean I get to chat informally with our new receptionist, who I like. Eventually, after explaining patiently that yes, the gates do open, you just have to wait a bit, my Uber pulled up. I said my goodbyes, signed out, stepped into the sun, and…

“Hi!” said a stunningly pretty, young Polish lady who materialised out of thin air. “Do you need some help? I’m going to help you, okay?”
Without waiting for an answer, she floated over to the back door without her feet touching the ground and opened it as gracefully as one could be graceful when opening a car door.

I wasn’t breathing as I got in. I didn’t feel like I was worthy.

The journey passed in a haze of sunshine and “new car” scent, aided and abetted by long, shiny blonde hair, a perfect nose, radiant eyes, a lovely smile and a very good choice of nail varnish. Her chat was bright and breezy, and even the way she drove was smooth – I’ve gotten whiplash from the sleeping policemen before. In this case, they may as well not have been there. Jumped out of the way, perhaps, like in the Knight Bus.

I almost fell asleep en route back (I do that a lot), but I jerked back awake when she pulled up outside my flat all too soon.

I was grateful for her opening the door for me, specifically since I could have sworn she teleported there from her driver’s seat. She hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Do you need some more help?” she beamed. “If you want, I’ll let you hold my hand…”

Oh, in the name of Aslan, yes, I want to hold your hand. I mean, I might explode into a cloud of silver glitter or something, but what a way that would be to go. They’d be talking about that for weeks.

“No, that’s very kind of you,” I wheezed as I hoiked my body out of the door and stood up while every single joint in me realigned with a sickening crack, “but I’m fine, I’m fine, thanks. See? I’m standing. I’m okay.”
“You’re sure you don’t need any more help?” Full beam smile. At this point I notice that she’s wearing a crop top. You can see her navel, which is pierced. A spotlight falls on her from above and heavenly choirs sing in rich chorus.

Yes, I do. I need help to more out of your radiant brilliance. I could bathe in this absolute perfection. Yes, I’m aware I’m married. This is different. This is pure, aesthetic beauty.

Of course, I didn’t say any of that. I may have bowed a little in thanks. She did a little stretch before swanning her way back to the driver’s seat, giving me one final view of every curve and contour of her body. How I got back into my flat without entering a state of nervous collapse, I’ve no idea.

The Uber app asked me to rate the driver.

There aren’t enough stars in the world to give this luminescent goddess of delight.