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Out of mind

Teaching my son to drive exposes him to a high risk of death. He is as responsible as I was at 17, but his brain is not yet ready to prevent him taking chances

By Paul Broks   May 2005

My youngest son is at the wheel. We’re bumping along the cracked runways of a disused airfield. It’s a sparse and grainy landscape, a scenario from a video game. Two or three other cars scuttle like bugs under the blind scrutiny of the derelict control tower. RAF Davidstow aerodrome is pitched, implausibly, at the northern edge of Bodmin moor. It was built in 1942 and closed three years later. They hadn’t bargained for the weather. In the 1950s it became a motor racing circuit and once hosted a Formula 1 race. But Cornwall isn’t Monaco. If it wasn’t the mist,…

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