“I’ll help you renew your driver’s licence” announced Haile, as we bounced through some pot-holes on our way home last week. A motorcyclist wearing a tee-shirt and no helmet with a traffic policeman riding pillion also with no helmet snaked past us through the progressively more congested traffic. We were soon stationary at the infamous Tor Hailoch roundabout. I handed Haile my licence. “Hmm” he mused, “not for five weeks. We will go after three weeks.”