July 2000, Stapleford. I'd just done two circuits with my instructor when he said, "Right, feel up to it? Good, I'm off for a cup of tea then, see you later."
One full circuit, Traumahawk down in one piece, Cheshire cat grin all the way back to High Cross.
Back at the airfield I'm elated enough that I let a friend of mine (who was learning to drive at the time) drive us back to the main road down a dirt track which winds itself through some fields. Five minutes later my grin has disappeared and I'm calling the RAC to get me out of the ditch that my friend drove us into.
Still got gloriously drunk that night, though.