I’ve been teaching Zoë to drive over the last few weeks. It came about partly with her niggling me to get her insured on the car, and partly because – as it turned out – I got a discount for insuring her on the car when the insurance came up for renewal. Something about a ‘partner’s discount’ and that when you pass 25, insurance isn’t as expensive as for younger people, regardless.
She’s getting good quite quickly. No longer does she take out unwary wheelie bins and veer towards the kerb every time she changes gear. Bunny hops are a thing of the past, and I’m proud of her progress. The last two frontiers are confidence (always something that comes slowly) and lane discipline. One of my pet narks is people who use every lane (wrongly) at roundabouts, so I’m determined to make sure that she isn’t one of them.
She’s out on the campaign trail today. Around about now she is at Bolton town hall with William Hague smiling and looking pretty for the television news crews. She really wants to enter politics seriously at some point, so it is a good exercise. It will be the third time that she has met William Hague, so maybe he might start remembering her name? That can only be a good thing for a potential career within the Conservative party.
In other news, the car that belonged to the shady people who came to our door last week asking if there was “any money in [our house]” turns out to have been a false numberplate. The Police did a search, and even tried permutations of the number, but to no avail – there are no green Fords with that numberplate or any similar to it still officially in existence. It only adds further mystery to that strange few minutes. Aparently it isn’t unheard of for Eastern Europeans to turn up and ask for money (in the hope that they will be paid to go away?). We’ve been told to report it immediately if they ever come back. The Police have issued advice to their people to be on the lookout for the car in the local area. But how weird?