YOU ROCK MY WORLD

Not so long ago all of our car journeys would be accompanied by the rocking beat of the flaming bus wheels or dear old Polly and her kettle; thankfully, those days are over. Now, we are a moving, grooving medley of here-and-now pop music. The three of them fight for the front seat so that they can be head music changer and chief volume adjuster. It’s an ugly scrabble, which normally ends in tears, whining and quite a lot of loud lung action all round.

Most pop music is acceptable to them, but they have their favourites. Last week S Club 7 went head to head with Basement Jaxx, alternating between their respective songs on every journey with the volume turned up so high I thought we’d be stopped for noise pollution. I don’t mind what we listen to, although some of the lyrics are a bit dodgy for under 11’s. At Christmas time even Max turned off the Eminem song we were listening to saying,

“This one’s too rude, Mum.”

It wasn’t clear who he was trying to protect, but I think it was me.

Young Bobby’s favourite this week is Shaggy and Ali G’s ‘Me Julie’ – seriously unsuitable listening for a six year old. Ali G sings of goolies, dongs and big Babylons – oh dear, hardly ideal word content when Granny’s round for tea. I sometimes put Craig David on in the car, but that can get tense, as sex seems to be the main subject of all his songs, provoking too many awkward questions. There’s one track which needs to be skipped, whose chorus, is ‘Follow me to my bedroom’ and continues… ‘When I get on top and I make it real hot’. What a coward I am - it’s potentially ideal material for casual in-car chats about sex and relationships. The car’s a perfect venue for tricky topics: the very act of driving requires intense scrutiny of the road ahead thus ruling out any awkward eye contact. A psychologist would no doubt have a field day with me about this.

Flo truly loves S Club 7, she’s learnt the dance moves to quite a few of the songs, and she and her friends sing along tirelessly. On the way to the supermarket, she announced that Rachel is her favourite member of S Club as well as her ‘best famous person she would most like to meet’. Max said his is Eddie Murphy, ‘cos he’s so funny’. Bobby’s, bizarrely, is Bart Simpson. We didn’t like to break it to him, but you can imagine the superior, smug giggling from the others.

They all wanted to know which famous person I’d like to meet. I gazed ahead at the teeming supermarket car park, finding life a little lacklustre that day. In another mood I might have chosen someone admirable and awe-inspiring like the amazing yachtswoman, Ellen MacArthur, or the worthy J.K. Rowling who, it was announced recently, has single-handedly changed the reading habits of a whole world of children. But no, in my reverie and in an instinctive, visceral sort of way I plump for Jude Law.

“Who’s he?” they ask, sounding bored.

“He’s an excellent actor, really marvellous, quite amazing,” I reply, pulling myself to my senses.

I smile too. If my friends could hear me now they would be hooting with laughter with me all the way to the checkouts, knowing I don’t give a monkey’s about his acting ability, I just fancy the pants off him.

Life in the Slow Lane is written by Clare Kent. She has three children - Max is nearly eleven, Flo is nearly eight and Bobby is six and a half - and lives in Wiltshire.

NEXT INSTALMENT: WEDNESDAY 20 MARCH

Read Claire's previous diary