Clare Teal: Our personal teenage taxi service comes at a price

"Young man – how do you fancy doing the driving on Saturday night?"

"Aw yeah I would – but I promised Oscar I'd have a drink with him"

"I'll pay you 15 – that includes petrol, mind."

Having found ourselves a designated driver, Muddy and I spent Saturday day pootling round the Cotswolds, reversing up ridiculously narrow lanes (flippin' sat nav) and drinking coffee in Cirencester. Having discussed what we were going to wear for dinner (another cup of coffee and a chocolate panettone), the grim reality dawned on us that we'd have to travel in our hero's teenage-mobile; a bit like a Noddy car but smelling of hamsters and magic tree air fresheners – because he genuinely likes the pine-fresh smell, not anything to do with hiding sneaky cigarette smoke, honest!

The thought of what we might find lurking was too much to bear – one quick phone call and the problem was solved.

"Young man you have a choice, 15 in your car or… 10 in ours"

His little face lit up. I prepared myself for judderings, revvings and stallings but was pleasantly amazed to discover he can drive our car far better than I can – in fairness to him this isn't difficult.

My only worry is having opened the door to temptation, will he have the will power to not drive our car when we're away? A friend of ours went on holiday reminding her two teenage boys that under no circumstances must dad's red sports car be moved so much as an inch from the locked garage.

On their return – everything was just as they left it – until some months later a salesman came to the door with an aerial photograph of their home taken just months ago. "As you can see it was a beautiful day – your sports car looks marvellous on the drive."