I sit here content with a full belly, hair straightened ready for work, good documentary on the tv and my son happily flitting around doing his own thing. Yet just a few miles north families are mourning the loss of their children in a car crash.
It happened in the damp mist of last night and now instead of normal Sunday prep for school tomorrow they are dead and books of condolences have been opened.
My son is of the age where his friends are getting ready to drive. Some have scooters while they wait to reach 17 and can then apply for their provisional. Between us and them are many twisting country lanes. I drive them many times a day and night in awful conditions and know how difficult the bends can be to negotiate. A while ago I made him promise not to get in a car driven by any new or young driver. I will provide a lift whenever I can or pay for a taxi.
It only takes a little inexperience, a moment of anger or a headrush of racing and they could be gone. If he becomes a driver I would not want him to be have the responsibility of youngsters in his car either.
I never faced this problem as a kid. Only one person I knew passed her test and borrowed the family car. The rest of us made do with buses or a begged lift. But then I lived in London with a good transport system. Although I do remember a long walk home in the snow along the A13 one night.
I don't want to even begin to contemplate the loss being faced, it is too painful. I wish they were rushing to finish last minute homework, packing their school bag and having a quick game of Fifa.