Yesterday was a black cloud day. Months of lessons, careful coaching, financial and pastoral support ended in my daughter failing her driving test. Ah well, all the best ones take it twice.
However, and I know this has a whiff of putrid fruit about it, the reason for failing he has bemused all comers.
Although racking up only six minor infringements she failed on her turn in the road, for taking seven moves.
Now, I was always taught that far from being a three point turn it was as many as you needed to get around without threat to pavement dwellers or perambulationists. Clearly not.
Even the driving instructor, Stan the AA Man, was moved to ring Wigan test centre and seek an explanation.
Secretly my feeling is that 17 is too young to be let loose in the mayhem of modern driving but on the other hand I don’t want one of mine using public transport, especially late at night. For a start she will get her good clothes dirty off the seats.
And besides that I have to concede that my grandfather had a gun in his hands at that age.
Hard life, bank robbery.
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