The 'school run', that much commented upon, mirth riddled exercise that we find ourselves dutifully  embroiled in twice daily.

Recently, presumably down to the moon being in the right quarter or some other preordained stroke of luck, I arrived EARLY for the afternoon pick up.  I normally pick up my nine year old, who, incidentally, shall no longer bear the pseudonym Damien but rather Star I; there's also a Star II. Christ I'm begging to sound like an Emperor HM now.  However, could have been worse ..... Ra and Thor ..... I kid you not ....

Anyway, as I was saying, I usually instruct Star II to 'act casual' as we sprint our way towards HM Central  HQ, aka the school gate. With a flick of the pashmina you can look as if you've been there all afternoon chatting about Brownies and Barbados etc, etc.  I have never mastered this technique, not helped by Star II who usually decides he 'needs a wee' behind the bushes alongside numerous other Macaroni offspring .... there'll be a letter home shortly I have no doubt.

I digress.  So I found myself with a slice of that rare commodity TIME, and so slipped into the delightful state of people-watching, more specifically contemplating people and their cars really.

Firstly, the Jag. I'm sorry, what is the point of owning a car that once it's over six months old induces thoughts of Arthur Daley, all fags, car coats, trilby hats and calling people 'my son'? The Jag driving HM has an arrogance that is second to none. Example? Forcing another HM to reverse down a hill past a line of parked cars even though there was time and room enough for the Jag to pull in and wait......outstanding Emperor behaviour!!!

BMW drivers are the same, with the exception of those young lads in baseball caps, a mobile clamped to their ear looking incredibly suspicious in cinema car parks - clearly they could not afford the ‘'7 series' were it not for the stuff they sell ........... allegedly......

Then, of course, the 4WD, enough said I think. Suffice to say every time I meet one of these gleaming blacked-out bungalows-on-wheels the same phase springs to mind .... 'come on chummy, you're the one with the 4WD, get in the ditch', but to no avail as they glide by a la Posh and Becks and I'm the one in the ditch, no surprises there then ... bugger.  The only person I know with a 4WD that truly warrants it is a HM who farms cattle.  Her ageing 'Disco' looks like it served in the Gulf and has had so many animals in the back in various stages of birth, death or decay that a quick go over with the Shake n' Vac simply will not cut it.

Then there's the young HMs who have an overly developed pink gene.  What is this propensity for puke – sorry - pink?  Pink is EVERYWHERE!!  HMs with girls have no problem locating clothes or toys in stores - the slight humming sound and the luminous glow emitting from them gives it away every time. Posing the question 'do you have this in another colour?' is a crime against girliness. But in cars too?  Pink seats, pink seat belts, pink fluffy steering wheel covers!!  Aaaaagh!!  This variety of HM is a hybrid of the Macaroni with its pink highlighted hair, pink straighteners plugged into the cigi (pink tipped) lighter and not forgetting the way they still chat on their pink phones WHILE THEY DRIVE!!!!!!  Then there's the word 'Kenwood' emblazoned somewhere, often in pink - just leaves me with an image of my mum grappling with a dough hook.

Then there’s the V.W van, love them really, but Hampshire's coastline is not renowned as a surfing paradise.  Just because you hang a religious icon and a few beads from your rear view mirror does not mean you've circumnavigated the globe giving Michael Palin a lift en route.

Ah yes, the Porsche Boxter, great noise, but tends to look like it's been trodden on at some point necessitating the driver to lie down, raising her head occasionally to consult the sat-nav.  In the summer months they are largely inhabited by ageing men in the ubiquitous baseball cap and Oakleys, accompanied by much younger blondes clad in Max Mara and Gucci, that the wife doesn't know about. She's stuck on the M5 in the 4WD with the kids, (one in pink),visiting her mother.

And me?  Well this Macaroni got seriously shafted by the French, which would sound quite exciting but for the fact I'm talking financially.  Bugger.... bought a Renault Megane Scenic on a 'special deal' which turned out to be more expensive than the debt of an African nation. However it's got two things going for it......

1) It's not pink.

2) It's practical.  (Now I know I'm old....bugger).

Inside and out  it has the same aesthetic characteristics as the vehicle owned by my cattle farming friend but without the blood, well, unless we've had a really bad day.  And whilst it has a good safety record (sounding even older), it's the car most likely to break down, the AA Relay guy cheerily informed me on a laboriously slow journey back up the M3 one day. However all is not lost, one of the great joys of a 1.6 engine, actually the only joy, is that once you finally reach 80 - m.p.h, not years, just feels like it - and if this coincides with you being in the outside lane, you've reached your optimum velocity, then all you do is wait.........in a short time it's there, two cms from your boot......the builder’s chav wagon. You hold your nerve.  One flash, an illegal overtake on the inside manoeuvre, and he's gone, revealing the prize ....  yes the Audi.......you move to the middle lane and watch him speed by, ignoring  the "bird".  Bugger, still well worth it, just to be that close ....Thy shalt not covet .......

I return to the reality of the pick-up with a wistful smile only to find myself in the remake of the Italian Job there are so many Minis around!

And, of course, I'm now late......bugger.