‘L’ is supposed to stand for Learner Driver.

‘P’, for Provisional Licence Holder, in other words a driver who has just graduated from ‘L’.

I am suspicious the single letters are subtle codes for what Transport Department officials have covertly branded parents, who are attempting the teaching.

L for Laughable

or Ludicrous, or even Loser.

P for Paranoid

and Pathetic.

So far I have taken two daughters from non-driver to L (learner driver) to P (provisionally-licenced driver).

I’m onto my third daughter, with two to go.

There is nothing L for Lovely or P for Pleasant about it.

And after my most recent lesson I reluctantly tend to think the Transport mob has got the surreptitious branding right.

The Background.

None of the girls is allowed to drive as an L with anyone else in the car other than the parent-teacher. So, no siblings, no friends.

The Scenario.

Daughter no 3 (L) had only been driving for two weeks, had only clocked up six hours of the required 100 and had not had one “official” lesson.

The Journey.

(L) was required at a representative basketball bonding BBQ.

For her, the chance to socialise with new team members. For the parents, an opportunity to meet the coach, other parents and fact-find.

It was at a private home at least 20 minutes and 20 kms away. A trip L drivers champ at the bit to get behind the wheel for.

The Travellers.

This was the first time in all the early stages of L driving for the previous children that the two L parents had been in the car with the L driver.

None of us knew where the home was.

The Story.

Me: ” Honey do want to sit in the front with (L )and be the instructor?”

Hubby: “No sweetie, that’s okay I’ll sit in the back.”

Me: ” We’ll turn left here (L )so slow down and put your indicator on.”

Hubby: “(L) put the indicator on earlier.”

(L): “Ok.”

Me to Hubby: “Darling, I’m the instructor here, if you want to do it, we’ll pull over and you can get in the front.”

Hubby: “No, that’s fine.”

15 Minutes later and arriving at the suburb where the BBQ is.

Hubby: “Do you know the address?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve found it on the referdex.” (saying this and turning the map upside down as all women know that’s how you do it – flip the map to put the street running in the same direction as you are travelling)

Me: ” We are looking for street name, it should be on the right.”

Hubby: “There it is.”

Me: “(L) we are turning right soon so slow down, put on your indicator.”

Hubby: “No that’s not it, don’t turn.”

(L): “What!, What do I do?

Me: “Yes it is,  turn.”

Hubby: “No it isn’t go straight.”

(L): getting anxious-and turning blinker on and off.

“Oh my God, what do you want me to do?”

Hubby: yelling

” Just Turn!”

Me to (L): ” This isn’t the right street, turn around.”

Me to Hubby: thrusting the referdex to the back seat, exasperated.

“Here you direct!”

Hubby to Me: thrusting the referdex back, exasperated.

“I can’t read the map I forgot my glasses!”

Indicator: “blink, blink, blink”

Me: “Actually it is the right street, the sign post was skewed. Turn around again.”

Hubby to (L): “Turn the blinker off!”

(L): “I HAVE TO PUT IT ON TO TURN AROUND AGAIN”

Me:  yelling,

“Don’t YELL, we are trying to help you.”

Hubby: “Put the blinker on, look behind you, slow down, spin the wheel harder”.

Me: ” Actually, I don’t think it is the right street.”

Hubby: “Give me the map”

Me: “You can’t see!”

Me: “No it’s right, keep going (L)

(L): “Oh my God this is the worst day of my life, shut up both of you.”

(L): “I can’t even drive straight ahead yet and you are yelling at each other and screaming at me to do U-turns in the middle of  all these street with cars everywhere, and the blinker is on the wrong side of the steering wheel (it’s European) and I am scared and I don’t know where I am going”

Hubby: “Stop complaining and concentrate!”

Me: “Look we are here, it WAS the right street.”

Look on the bright side honey (L) you did 10 more minutes and a few more km’s driving, how good is that?”

(L): gets outs of car, slams the door walks off and rudely mutters, “You guys suck!!”

Aftermath

New driving rule for L’s in our house.

No siblings, no friends and NO SPOUSES.