The first rule of Ferrari Club.....

Just bought a car.
It's a Ferrari.
If I'm being honest, it's not mine.
To be 100% accurate, it's not a real Ferrari either.
It goes fast, though, reaching high speeds in the hall, although it can prove a touch lethargic on the playroom rug.
The car in question is radio-controlled and it belongs to The B, acquired using the cash he received for his birthday, funds that have been burning a hole in his pocket for almost a fortnight.
He has been keen to spend it, desperate in fact, so much so that he'd have bought anything just to have rid himself of it. In such times, a little parental guidance is crucial.
The other night, he commandeered the Argos catalogue, skipping all the boring sections expertly, turning to the back pages, the good stuff, the toys.
His choice? Scalextric.
The initial pick pleased me as I allowed myself to imagine the thrills and spills, the red-hot racing action and the fun-packed hours it'd fill. I then remembered the Bikegate affair.
Bikegate has taught me an important lesson, the episode highlighting the pitfalls of buying toys before their time. That is, purchasing items unsuitable for the child in question, things that are just a little too old for them.
The bike was one such folly, a Scalextric, as much we both craved it, would have been another.
You see, The B isn't quite ready, he doesn't have the required control. Scalextric might have been great fun for me, but as I had to remind myself, finding toys for me wasn't our objective.
So no Scalextric, not yet, anyway.
He took the decision well, much better than expected, in fact.
Our subsequent trip into town, bearing said funds, to scour the biggest and best toy shops around, helped to cushion the blow, it's true.
The Ferrari stood out from the start, all red and shiny, its box boasting of the speeds that it can reach and the manoeuvres it can perform.
In an instant, The B was smitten. I liked it rather a lot too.
So back home again, batteries in and away, no complicated instructions to read, just straight to the action, custom-made for our purposes.
One or two teething troubles.
Forwards and backwards, no problem. Steering, needs practice.
For the first hour or so, he'd drive it across the room and then get up and go to retrieve it. Teaching him that he can just drive the car back to himself has proved more difficult than expected, but it's coming.
The G has also been allowed a drive, although strict conditions have been applied.
You see, the car is plastic, not particularly robust, a little brittle, no match for a Matchbox.
It'll break underfoot, so the car must always be put in a safe place after use, and crashing, no matter how great its amusement value, must be kept to a minimum.
Before handing the controls over, The B gave The G a short masterclass.
"The first rule," he said in his most authoritative voice. "Don't sit on it."
I couldn't have put it better myself.

      

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