My daughter's driving test....

I am rather scared at the moment.

No. That’s wrong. To say I’m ‘rather scared’ is probably akin to insinuating that Mr Mugabe is ‘a little corrupt’. What I am, now I’ve had a few seconds to ponder my feelings, is downright TERRIFIED. I am continuously sweating, despite it being the dead of Winter, and my hair is falling out to such an extent that Mrs Ed has started using a comb to give the shower floor a centre parting.

Why? Well. Let me explain myself with a bit of background information. To start with, my daughter has decided to change her name. I’m not sure how legal it is, because though she’s over 18, she is still officially living under my roof (that’s such a parent thing to say isn’t it?).

Having said that, it is only her nick-name actually.

You see for years I referred to her as The MCM (Money Consuming Machine) because of her ability to ensure that any cash within a 500m radius of her was spent. Really, before she could even read, she could choose something on a menu that would necessitate the selling of jewelry to pay the bill.

This name lasted until last year when she got her learner’s driving license, at which time she was re-christened (by popular demand) Fear Factor. I thought this name was quite fitting as it did exceptionally well in describing
a) The look on her face when she was behind the wheel
b) The heart-stopping horror of anyone who had the misfortune of being her official licensed driver
c) The ‘Did I just brush with death?’ realisation of pedestrians and other drivers she drove past... by a hair’s breadth.

I would add a fourth, but I am not one of those sentimental people who might suggest that a motor vehicle would be capable of any sort of human emotion. I will put it on record, though, that Mrs Ed is convinced she has seen Nessie, our little Nissan 1400 bakkie, visibly shudder as Fear Factor walks toward it with keys in her hand. In fact the poor little vehicle stopped starting last week for no apparent reason. Nobody can find out why, she just refuses to budge..... hmmmmm.

But I digress. I was saying that my daughter has decided to rework her nick-name to something more stylish than ‘Fear Factor’, though she has kept the same initials (which will thankfully save her having the tattoo altered). Her reasoning behind this name-change is understandable, yet somehow all the more terrifying. I shall attempt to stop shaking long enough to explain.

A week ago, still in her type-cast role as ‘Fear Factor’, my daughter took her driving test. This after a few months of terrorising the other road-users in Sedgefield and, in the previous two weeks, undergoing extensive lessons with some poor unsuspecting instructor in George.

Incidentally he too has a nick-name:- my daughter (and all her friends who maliciously recommended the unfortunate fellow to her) call him ‘Shorty’. I think he got the name because of the frantic way he hunches down into his seat every time one of the Sedgefield girls arrive for a lesson. Perhaps he hopes that if they don’t see him in the car, they might turn around and go home.

My daughter really likes him - she said he’s definitely a church going man because when she gets in the car he starts praying rather fervently, sometimes even out loud, when they are going through George central.

So after countless lessons with this unfortunate man, he declared that ‘Fear Factor’ was ready to take the test. It was quite an emotional moment for him - I could see tears running down his face. The date was booked and, in exchange for Mrs Ed promising to do the washing up for the next 17 years, I drove 'Fear Factor' to George on the day. First to meet her instructor for one last lesson, then all three of us went to the Traffic Department.

I’m not sure if perhaps news of her driving ability had leaked to that office, but somehow - though her test was booked for 8am, there was no one there who could take her. Allegedly they searched and searched, but no willing officer could be found.

She, of course, was a ball of stress - all she could do was sit in the waiting room doing her memory chant. “Check right, check left, check blindspot, check mirror, check make-up, check facebook, check messages, check hair... Check right, check left, check blindspot, check mirror, check make-up, check facebook, check messages, check hair” . Which was all very well for the first twenty minutes delay, but by the time they had located the person originally scheduled to test her and pried him from his barstool, two and a half hours had gone by.

Poor ‘Fear Factor’ was totally ruined by then, and once finally inserted behind the wheel for her test ended up checking her ashtray vision, putting the handbrake into gear and letting out her clutch handbag.

And so... she failed. Of course ‘Shorty’ was found on his knees in the carpark - looking sky-ward and muttering “Why?” over and over again.

A totally traumatised and teary-eyed trip home followed.... (and Fear Factor was just as upset).

But I must give the girl credit. Once she had finished her rant about how the system had failed her, and how young people today are so disadvantaged because she KNOWS that when we took our driving tests there was mostly only cattle and elephants and maybe a dinosaur or two on the roads, and cars didn’t go faster than 20mph, and why on earth is avoiding cones so important when you NEVER see cones anywhere else,.... she put on a positive outlook.

“That’s it!” she stated , “If they don’t want to give me my license, even when I drive so slowly and carefully, then I shall do just the opposite! That will show them.” And with this proclamation she announced her new nickname.

She is now calling herself ‘Fast and Furious’.

Do you understand why I am quivering in my winter boots? Perhaps you should be too!

You’d be mad if you didn’t!