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Daddies drive, apparently. That is the common consensus which I chose to ignore for 45 years. When we had mummy fit and well she did the driving. That was fine by me. Cars pollute and contribute to global warming. They represent 2 tonnes of danger and a wincing bill.

The option of opting out of vehicular duties was removed when mummy got very poorly. I stepped up to the plate, got my provisional licence and signed up for lessons.

I could make no head way in a manual car. After two lessons my instructor texted me to indefinitely suspend my tuition. My driving seemed to be having a detrimental impact on her health.

We had an automatic car, and despite the greater cost for lessons to learn in an automatic, I thought it wise and indeed prudent to switch. I persevered for my family.

I liked my new instructor; we chatted about football and politics as I tootled around Kidderminster. My wife adjudged me to be nearly enjoying myself and pushed for me to have more lessons and try harder. She wasn’t to see me pass either my theory or my practical tests. That breaks my heart.

I became a qualified driver on the 31st January, 2017. I can now visit my parents; I can now take my daughter to birthday parties; and, I can now shop at Lidl. Not to my thinking essential stuff. But I did keep my promise and that’s what daddies should do.

First published in The Bewdley Bridge April 2017 edition