The nightmare of teaching your offspring to drive | Alun Newman

I thought a continuation of the mini-series might be fun (for the reader not me).

It was always going to happen.

Confidence rises. More lessons are taken (at a cost I no longer monitor because it’s too painful).

More and more requests come in for driving on the open road.

His mates are now passing their tests which is another challenging situation that requires the parental poker face.

One over-confident teenager turns up at our house the other Saturday in their parents’ Ford C-Max and has one space left for an outing to the beach.

Everything in me says no.

However, I wave them off. I add simple instructions for my son to follow such as: ‘You know we worry. Fire a few texts back to say you're okay and what you’re up to?’

My son assures me that he will definitely do that. ‘Okay dad, I will.’ Hmmm.

I don’t hear from him again for 48 hours until he needs a lift from a sleepover.

‘What happened to all those the texts?’ I inquired calmly on the way home.

‘Oh yeah,’ is the reply (headphones go back in).

Clearly he hasn’t been enduring the overwhelming, almost crippling anxiety that comes with young drivers disappearing into the sunset.

Some of his friends are now also a lot taller than me, have a better beard than I could ever grow and have strong views on subjects other than what makes a good party bag. I’m being made redundant.

On a recent pick-up from my son's friends, I drove over in one of these endless storms that we’ve been having.

There were massive puddles everywhere, the wind was blowing a hooley and the occasional tree was down.

Other drivers were flashing me on approach.

I’ve often no idea whether the flashing of headlights means 'look out danger ahead' or 'big puddle turn back' or 'go for it you’ll be okay'. The Highway Code remains silent on this point.

I collect my son and he asks (in front of other parents!) whether he can drive.

I’m keen to look kinder and more laid back than I am in real life and I play the role of a gutted dad who has forgotten the L-plates!

Then the other family stepped in. Their son passed his test last week. Take these magnetic ones, we don’t need them anymore. God can be cruel.

I walk to the car trying to recall what I had as my last ever meal on planet earth.

My son is full of enthusiasm. The wind is blowing a Force 9 and it’s pouring. No training on earth can prepare a man for this.

As we pull away, I glance in the rear-view mirror and say goodbye to the remnants of the clutch plate we’ve just deposited on the road and I also apologise to the environment for what we are about to do.

It strikes me that this could be my last chance to impart my parental wisdom – which I did in the form of terrified shouting.

I am currently still alive and have just (today) been told by a similar dad who’s suffering from learner driver PTSD, that you can actually hire cars with dual controls. God can be cruel.

There seems to be no way out of this parental cul-de-sac. I’m thinking of starting a support group.

How to choose the perfect dog

A recent story from America got me thinking. What is the best dog you could buy?

Think about all the questions first-time dog owners have to consider.

How much exercise will it need? How expensive will it be to look after? Are they an obedient breed that is easy to train?

The list goes on and on until you totally ignore it and end up buying the one with which the children fall in love.

Before you know it, you’ve got a 30kg huskie in the house that moults so much hair you’ve been able to sign a sponsorship deal with Carpetright which is reusing dog hair for a new range of ethical Axminster.

The American story was that the government periodically sells ‘in-training’ sniffer dogs that are too friendly.

Apparently they’re good but not quite good enough as they get distracted.

Then it came to me.

The best dog you could get is a guide dog that just failed to make the grade because of some technicality. It loses interest in walking to heel. It can’t stop chasing cats. Not able to focus in crowds. It gets spooked at the sound of Pelican crossing beeps.

It costs more than £60,000 to train a guide dog. You could get the next best thing for a fraction of the price. A beautiful, almost perfect pet.