the curse of the mummy

I was settling in to another session of blog editing on Thursday afternoon when I got a call from my mum.
"I've been to the doctor again and he's told me I can drive"
She didn't quite say "So there!", but she might as well have done.
"He said he'd given you a letter saying just that. So why are you saying I can't?", she demanded.
I knew this couldn't be right: she had a letter from the DVLA (Driver Vehicle Licencing Authority) advising her that her licence had been revoked because of her memory problems, and that she couldn't have it restored without them having a letter from her doctor saying that she fulfilled the criteria for safe driving. Which he had indeed duly given us last week, and which I had then immediately dispatched to the DVLA- by first class special delivery. I said I would phone the doctor myself for confirmation and get back to her, which I did, and my original suspicions proved correct: she had simply heard what she wanted to hear from the doctor's lips, and worked on that.

She was not best pleased when I told her she had misunderstood what he had said to her. But then she turned her frustration and rage on me, exclaiming:
"Well of course this whole thing is your fault anyway: if you hadn't told the DVLA I'd still be driving now"
Then it was my turn to be outraged. I explained, in increasingly forceful language that I was doing everything possible to restore her licence as quickly as possible, and that I took exception to being told that it was my fault she's had her licence taken away- it was her legal duty to inform them of her diagnosis; she'd be breaking the law otherwise and might find herself uninsured to boot. Eventually I took a leaf out of her own book and put the phone down on her. She's done this to me lots of times over the years, but this is the first time I can recall returning the favour.

I was badly shaken by our exchange; honouring thy father and mother etc, but I shouldn't have worried. She was back on the phone within half an hour to apologise for her behaviour, and tearfully announcing that she did indeed trust that I was only acting in her best interests.

I have to say I do feel for the poor dab. She lives a mile away from even the nearest convenience store, and to be kept off the road is a major blow for her, as it would be for any of us. Fortunately, she has a good network of friends happy to step into the breach and help her out. So once she recovers from the initial shock she should just about manage for the at least 3 months it will take for the DVLA to get round to dealing with her case, and hopefully deciding in her favour.