Gran has come over for Sunday lunch, and announces to everyone that she is going to become an HGV driver.
Mum and Dad and Biff and Chip and Kipper stare at Gran.
“What?” says Gran. “Are you discriminating against me because I’m a little old lady? Little old ladies can drive trucks too, you know.”
Mum suggests to Gran that, while she is sure Gran can drive a truck extremely well, she does think that one of the basic requirements of becoming an HGV driver would be to have a blood alcohol level that is lower than the legal limit at the point you drive your truck.
“Pfft,” says Gran. “It’s health and safety gone mad, this is.” Gran does consider that it might be worth temporarily holding back on the Cinzanos and lemonades though, given the £1,000 signing on bonus available for aspiring HGV drivers.
“£1,000?!” says Dad excitedly. “I might become an HGV driver too!”
Everyone is silent, recalling how the last time Dad tried to reverse park Mum’s Vauxhall Corsa he took out the next door neighbours’ front porch.
“Oh god,” says Mum.
Two days later, Mum and the children are sitting in the living room attempting to decipher the undecipherable homework Mrs May has set them. “Has Mrs May been drinking?” asks Mum, holding the homework the other way up to see if it makes more sense that way.
“Probably,” says Biff, nodding sagely. “I would, if I had to teach all of us.”
All of a sudden there is an enormous noise, from outside the window. Mum and the children rush over to find Dad and Gran, both driving large HGVs, racing one another up and down the street.
“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” screams Gran leaning out the window, with such enthusiasm that her front dentures fly out and land in the middle of the pavement.
“Where did they get those trucks?” asks Kipper.
“Where did they get the PETROL?” asks Chip, genuinely impressed.
“What fresh hell is this?” asks Mum, head in her hands.
The HGV race comes to a sudden end when Dad clips the corner of Gran’s truck, which wobbles dangerously, before taking off at speed towards the end of the street where it crashes into the street sign, to be closely followed by Dad’s truck, which powers into the back of it. Dad and Gran rapidly eject, just in time for both trucks too go to in flames.
“Whoops, silly me,” says Dad. “They haven’t taught us about stopping just yet.”
“It’s like a James Bond film!” says Gran, throwing her hands into the air with delight. “I’ve always wanted to play M!”
“What have you DONE?” hisses Mum, in a voice so terrifying that even Floppy the ■■■■■■■ liability pauses in his attempts to fornicate with the garden hose.
“Don’t worry darling,” says Dad, coming over and putting his arm around Mum. “The neighbours will probably be very grateful for this. With energy prices going up so much, we can save on heating our homes and all come out and sit around the communal bonfire instead!”