My eldest child has started his driving lessons. We found a local driving instructor who was paid highly for his talents and nerves of steel. (Incidentally I had to be resuscitated when I found out the cost of driving lessons but having sat beside No. 1 son I think any decent driving instructor should be exalted and paid at least double!) After a few lessons it became evident that he was taking to it like a duck to Formula 1, so it was decided that we would go and pick up a little run-around. The theory being that if his parents took him out for practice drives it would cost less in lessons in the long run and if his own car was sat on the drive the incentive would be there to try harder.
What I didn’t factor in was the actual sitting in the passenger seat and putting your life in the hands of a slightly hot headed, know-it-all teenager who, after 10 lessons, thinks he’s Lewis Hamilton. His seat is so far back he’s practically horizontal and he adopts this sort of elephant impression to steer. So before we go anywhere I have to use stock phrases like, “Would you like to join me in the front before we set off sweetheart?” and, “I’m sure this music is lovely darling but is it really necessary to have it this loud when we’re driving?”.
If I’m honest he’s quite a good driver technically but way too fast. “The speed limit is a suggestion sweetie, not a target”, I advise in my best sing-y, calming non-panicking voice. So off we go on a regular basis round the Vale, me doing deep breathing exercises and him saying things like “Stop worrying Mum, it’ll be fine”.
I have, on a couple of occasions, borrowed his car to go to work in and whilst I refuse to do the elephant impression I have left the L Plates on and I am surprised by the effect it has on some of my fellow drivers. It seems that some people were born with a driving licence and certainly didn’t have to be taught or tested by a greater force. For ‘L Plate’ read complete imbecile who should be overtaken, run off the road and intimidated – not cautious driver who should be allowed extra time and space before they too are given a licence to become stressy road ragers.
So I make a small request – before you set off into the rush hour traffic or sit in the queue at the roundabout, take a deep breath and calm yourself. Being a bit more patient with your fellow road users, especially those who are new to the task, may add 30 seconds to your journey but the reduced stress level may give you a couple more years before that suspected heart attack! Oh, and if and when Mummy’s special soldier becomes road legal I’ll let you know!