My school was part of a music programme at school, where we were (extraordinarily, for an inner city comprehensive) given tickets to the ENO near Trafalgar Square.
The school journey would start in the evening at the tube station nearest the school and we would dress up nicely. Coz, opera, innit.
It was a rough area and, one winter's evening, I was not going to be allowed out of the front door by myself.
Dad had a mate with him who could drive and the tube station was close to a motorway slip road that headed towards the driver's home.
So, on his way home from work, Dad's mate drove me to the tube station.
In a gigantic, turning cement truck.
I had to hope out, in a velvet dress, high heels, fake fur coat and a little handbag, with Dad shouting out from the middle passenger seat that he'd collect me when I gave him a call from the phone box.
Thanks Dad.