I’m getting too old for this going out lark.

Following Friday night’s excursion around exotic Milton Keynes, both myself and Mrs M felt exhausted on Saturday and sitting down in front of the telly was about all I could muster.

As for Mrs. M, well, she went to bed for several hours.

Needless to say, no decorating got done, yesterday.

I did summon up the strength to take Son to the motorbike shop though, as he wanted to buy a crash helmet.

He goes go-karting with his mates and takes Mrs M’s old helmet, which is so old, the foam inner lining is now crumbling away, so he wanted a new helmet of his own.

But not just for go-karting… he has designs on getting a motorbike.

He has asked a couple of times if he can get one and I have said no.

They’re too dangerous.

Does that make me a hypocrite?

Or an overly protective father?

Or both?

OK, I bought my first bike when I was seventeen and I know my mum wasn’t keen on the idea, despite the fact that she and my dad had blatted around North London on his Matchless 650, when they were courting.

But they didn’t try and talk me out of getting one.

However, I think the roads are just so much more dangerous now.

I was hoping that when he got a car and started driving, the idea of getting a bike might go away, but no, he still seems keen to get one.

Next year, he turns 18 and will legally be an adult, so then I won’t really have a say in whether he can get one or not.