The Mad Professor is loving the sixth form. My gorgeous baby is so grown up (insert small sob here). There are, apparently, all sorts of perks too. As well as not having to wear uniform (they all swan about, as I think I mentioned, in pointy leather shoes, slim legged tailored trousers, trendy checked shirts and v-necked jumpers – oh, and ID tags so they don’t get mistaken for young, trendy teachers), they don’t have to wait in the lunch queue, but can elbow their way to the front (I can imagine this makes the younger ones fume), can go THE WRONG WAY around all the school one way systems (oh, the power) and can all exit the building at lunchtime where they flow en floppy haired masse to the local Tesco – woe betide anyone that times their shopping trip badly – it’s like the attack of the gangly GQ model.
Anyhoo, digressing. High on the agenda at every mealtime/car journey/opportunity to monopolise any conversation with a parent is When I Start Driving. It’s a conversation I’ve started to dread.
Did you know that driving lessons are 30 quid a pop now?
Why do teenagers have NO CONCEPT of money? He was actually looking at brand new VW polos the other day on the web. Now I don’t want to crush his dreams, but where does he think we’re going to get the money? He also thinks that, for some unknown reason, he will escape the extortionate insurance charges that obviously apply to every other young male driver.
Just for a laugh, and to prove a point, we got an insurance quote on an insurance comparison website for a newly qualified 17 year old driver on his father’s somewhat powerful car. A snip at… wait for it… £25,000 per annum.
Does anyone have any tips? Is it better to share a car with your offspring? Or is it best to help him (bless him, he’s working weekends at a local hotel doing silver service to save up) buy a car of his own? If so, which one is best? It won’t be flash, which in itself worries me from a safety point of view. Purely selfishly, though, sharing a car is a pain as I rather like my Mondeo – it’s nice and roomy (useful when the Death Wish Dude offers lifts home to half the skate park), powerful and automatic. Just about everything that he can’t have, then. And also, what do I do when he’s out at weekends? ‘Mum, you never go out at weekends anyway’. But IF I wanted to…
I need words of wisdom, dearest reader. Off you go, then.