It was like a scene from a world war two movie as I stood like a nervous RAF commander waiting for the planes to return from their latest sortie.
As daughter number three turned the corner in her blue Citroen emblazoned with L-plates there was no sign of damaged just the usual look of fear on the examiners face.
I hovered near the entrance of the test centre hoping to pick up signs of whether her mission was successful. With a punch in the air and a quick smile in my direction the newly crowned fluffy dice owner declared her victory.
We celebrated by having the music on load on the way home and the ceremonial removing of the extra rear view mirror. Then, as if I hadn't already suffered enough over the past four months of dad and daughter lessons, she unleashed the full terror of this new found freedom on me. "I want to travel down to see my friends in Norfolk the day after tomorrow", she offered as if a 143-mile road trip was just round the corner.
I resorted to the best answer a dad can use in situations like these; "you had better talk to your mother". It didn't stop her enthusiasm. With a cold, menacing stare at the road ahead she asked, "Is it easy to drive in France?"
Norfolk! France! Give me chance to get used the idea of you driving to the town centre first. I knew such things would happen but I need time to get accustomed to such changes. I tried to stem the tide of youthful automotive ideas by hinting at the need for another couple of lessons to cover motorway driving and multi-storey car parks but it was too late. My little girl was ready to fly...or drive as the case may be.
The pain was slightly eased by her offer to collect youngest daughter from various weekly clubs and occasionally put petrol in the now over used car, although in truth I know that such enthusiasm will be short lived.
It has occurred to me that in my eagerness to prepare her for the practical test I had forgotten to tell her about some very important driving rules:
1) Never have an amusing car sticker because they generally don't work.
Except for one that I saw on an old guy's car, it read 'My other hat's a balaclaver'.
2) Always turn the embarrassing music down when you stop at traffic lights. You never know who is watching.
3) Never forgive anyone who continually drives in the middle lane of a near empty motorway.
4) Expect signs for 'Town Centre Parking' to mysteriously disappear just
after they have lead you into a bus lane
5) Know that 'All other routes' means all other routes EXCEPT the one that you need.
I am pleased to report that, in the two weeks since L's were turned into
P's, fluffy dice owner has successfully travelled to Norfolk and back. I am proud of her although I still stand at the kitchen window waiting for her spitfire to return.
When your children learn to drive
Open Top Cars
They say that midlife brings a certain crisis to men leaving them with a need to complete an unfulfilled goal. For some this involves the purchase of a motorbike with more chrome than is good for you. For others a clothing makeover is undertaken aimed at somehow recapturing their youth.
I have noticed a rather surprising trend in this respect in the number of middle aged men driving open top cars; especially when you consider the weather in these parts.
How often do you see men in their late forties or early fifties driving convertibles with the top still up because the water content in the atmosphere could ruin their luxury leather upholstery.
When a sunny day does arrive it is seized upon as a perfect way of justifying their decision to buy a roofless motor. Of course these occasions normally occur on Wednesday afternoons when most people are at work.
Then, every Silsden flood or so, a week of rain is followed by a Sunday of kinder conditions when our middle-aged heroes come into their own (or should that be go out on their own).
The hills and dales are filled with two-seater convertibles as couples pretend to be enjoying the wind destroying their neatly coiffured hair. You can’t imagine they could have a good conversation without having to shout at each other above the noise of the other traffic; give me air-conditioning any day.
A few weeks ago we went for drive in our car with a roof in the general direction of Ilkley deciding to stop off a pub on the tops for a bite to eat. We sat for a while after our meal and stared lazily at the incredible view before us, occasionally glancing at the cars arriving to find room at the inn.
It wasn’t long before several convertibles arrived seemingly in convoy; it looked like a mid-life crisis day out. I have to admit they looked quite good in their vehicles as the sun dared to peak from behind its usual grey blanket to smile on them; I almost felt a tinge of envy (I said almost); they were having their one day in the sun so you had to allow them a bit of showing off.
Within a few minutes, however, we were distracted by a loud noise above us as a helicopter circled, and then landed in the field adjacent to the beer garden. The pilot circled a few times which I presume was an important part of his approach to landing although it seemed like he was just enjoying the sight of us all holding on to garden umbrellas.
Once he ‘parked’ his chopper we joined the rest of the pub clientele, leaving our drinks to stand and watch this incredible sight; probably hoping to see a celebrity or two emerge.
Once the blades had stopped their whirring a fairly ordinary looking family appeared from the gleaming copter and joined the other revellers in their search for good ale and food. We all returned to our seats and our conversations slightly disappointed not to be in the presence of someone famous.
I had to feel slightly sad for the open top car drivers as they were severely beaten in the ‘looking cool’ stakes. They all looked a bit saddened by the appearance of the helicopter family and it wasn’t long before they climbed in to their vehicles to find a pub that didn’t welcome pilots.
We didn’t wait to watch the flying family take off again because we had plans to look around quaint shops in Ilkley and Skipton. I took one last look at the monster of a machine in the field not far from where I had parked my car and was comforted that the helicopter same colour as my Passat; at least we had that in common.
Day Off
I took a day off work last week in order to get a few jobs done that had been building up for some time. You know! Those jobs that you convince yourself you will do on a Saturday morning but find that weekends are eaten up with other more important things, like watching cookery programmes on TV or trying to finish off that killer suduko that has been plaguing you for days.
I planned my day off to include a short, but well deserved, lie in and a breakfast that included bacon; chewing rabbit food every morning is more a chore than a pleasure. And, to ensure that I didn’t fritter away my time, I had written a list of important jobs.
When I woke on the morning of my much anticipated free day I noticed that some additions had been made to my agenda, in my wife’s hand writing I might add.
Apparently she felt that it would be a good use of my time to tidy up the wire drawer. I am not sure if every home has one but in our house we have a space specifically reserved for all the chargers, computer connectors, camera leads and other electrical odds and ends.
The development of this draw, like most home ideas, started off with good intentions; we were constantly being asked by the girls if we had seen the fire wire for the video camera or similar (as if we even knew what a fire wire was). We were so frustrated by the sight of daughters dashing around at the last minute trying to find a connector in order charge a phone that my wife suggested we choose one place that would become a safe haven for wires.
Now, after only a short while since the drawer was commissioned for its new purpose, it has started to develop a life of its own. Resembling a scene from an episode of Star Trek where an explosion has caused a panel to fall off the wall of the bridge, our drawer spews forth wires from every corner. It has also developed the ability to knot all the cables together during the night so that when you come to retrieve your much needed adapter you spend hours trying to untangle the spaghetti. This newly formed eco-system has grown so much that it is virtually impossible to now close the drawer.
It took me the best part of the morning, broken only by the delicious consumption of pig meat, to make any sense of the entanglement. I laid all the wires out on the floor in long straight lines and tried to work out what they were for.
I felt slightly annoyed that although we only have four mobile phones in the house we had seven different chargers. As well as the question about the Molineaux family’s inability to throw things away this raises another issue.
Why don’t all mobile phones manufacturers use the same type of charger?
Perhaps there are technical reasons that are beyond my limited subject knowledge but surely if you are cleaver enough to design a device that can not only allow you to talk to other people but can let you surf the internet, play music, and take digital photographs, why can’t you design a wire to fit all types of phones?
The world is full of such duplications; whether it is starter motors for your car or tv remote controls every new thing you buy will require a new version of a very basic component.
I suppose it is due to companies competing for market share with their latest inventions that leads this. In the days of the VHS/Betamax battle for home video players it was the same; pieces of equipment that were designed to do the same job yet not compatible with each other. Before that it was the compact cassette verses the cartridge and I am sure there have been many examples since.
I wonder if any one is still using a Betamax machine to record the telly; if so I think I have cable for it in my wire drawer.
