Driving Round Bends…

Boabie passed his driving test in August of this year. 30+ years after he was of age and following six failed driving tests…


His pass has affected the household in many unanticipated ways. Not least – and I am squirming a bit when I admit this – the balance of power in our relationship has undergone a bit of a stress test.


I gave up pushing him into a car many many years ago. His excuses were ingenious. Some of them just plain low


He didn’t want to add to global-warming apparently. He would do the green thing and take public transport. He would learn when his job needed him to. He would phone a driving school on Monday. He had forgotten to phone the driving school because a dog had eaten his homework… but the piece de resistance and maybe the most memorable (for me) was after the birth of our 2nd child – a birth which followed a high-speed dash to the hospital with my Dadwhen Boabie said I promise, if you are ever pregnant again I will pass my driving test.


The youngest of our five was 8yrs and 5 months old back in August…


Who would have thought then, that a much awaited ability to drive could cause such change?


After years ensuring that he was employed only by urban schools situated on a main train line, he was promoted to Head Teacher (Principal) of a rural High School in September. He jingles my car keys when he is not stealing my car. He makes observations about my driving – I would change gear here, I would slowdown a bit on this bend and just accelerate out – that type of thing. He disappears to the supermarket just for the thrill of driving the mile and a half it takes to get there and is first to volunteer to take the lad to work – even when it means getting out of his bed on a Saturday morning and before 7am… He has become an elderly boy-racer…a Scottish Jeremy Clarkson… and I fear opening the door one day to find my car has sprouted some go-faster racing stripes and a rear spoiler with wings…


So far, so good I imagine many might say – you get off with the mundane driving and get to vegetate at home. But I was the driver. Driving is me! 


For the last 27 years I have held the keys. My wedding vows might just as well have been prefixed I will drive Because oh! how and where I have driven! The Pyrenees from St Jean de Luz to Pamplona. Bilboa, Santander, Madrid, Barcelona, Cartagena, London. Cyprus. Malta. France – including the bloody awful Paris. Maybe worst of all – Milan…


And all that time Boabies disinterest was infamous. He was renowned within the extended family as the man who was driven by his wife. He wore the badge of carless-ness proudly. Taunted others with a so what-ness that made me proud. 


This, I think, is how the mighty are fallen…





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