Glossed by T.S. Eliot in his mildly satirical notes to his modernist opus The Waste Land to mean 'The Jimijam which passeth his driving test", this word finds its place here, in this most joyous of weeks.
Truth be told, I had a test a few weeks ago and failed. In a really retarded way. I failed literally at the end of the first road, fifteen metres from where we were parked at the test centre. Waiting behind two other testees (unfortunately word choice, I apologise) at a give way line, I followed sheep-like as they turned without waiting. The rest of that test went more or less fine. I got the easiest reverse manoeuvre (you only have to do one now) - the 'turn in the road', and I didn't have to go on the bypass. To be honest, I'm not convinced I deserved to fail it. I didn't cause anything by failing to wait, which is usually the criteria for a minor fault becoming a major fault. Driving examiners in this country are more or less required to adhere to an average pass/fail ratio. If their pass rate is too different from the average, they risk getting fired. No lie. My friend Heather told me she booked her tests early in the week because at that point, the examiners don't know how many people they still need to pass or fail. My first test was on a Thursday afternoon. Asking for trouble.
This time, I booked Tuesday morning. The weather was lovely. I didn't tell my parents I was sitting the test so I would feel less pressure. Went out with my instructor for an hour before, stalled the car, but didn't let that get me down. Test went as expected, which is to say they made me go on the bypass, and I had to do a reverse park. I prefer that to reversing round a corner (who ever needs to reverse round a corner anyway?). I got six minor faults in total. I was so relieved when he told me I'd passed, I wanted to hug him. My instructor was delighted as well.
Now I need never drive again.