My kids think I can fix anything.

I haven’t tried particularly hard to counter this myth. To them, sticking a toy back together with a bit of glue is like magic, and being able to fix cars and mowers is like a super power. I’ll have a go at anything if there’s a YouTube video on it, although my record of re-assembling engines is not as good as my record of taking them apart. I’m like a fake surgeon, slipping out of the operating theatre when things start to go pear shaped.

And I’ve had some pretty poorly cars in my time.

The VW Beetle which sagged in the middle so badly it started scraping on speed bumps. The little Nissan that shook violently when it went above 50. The ancient Talbot Horizon that couldn’t go above 50. It was so loud I once accidentally left the hatchback open and didn’t notice for 30 miles. It actually caught fire while the AA man was working on it. He seemed shell-shocked. God I loved that car.

READ MORE: Going back to school with Goose

The worst car I’ve ever had, though, is our current school-run car. It’s not the engine. It’s not the brakes. It just leaks.

I’ve sat inside while a hose sprays it with water. Not a droplet from the sunroof. And yet somehow every time it rains the rear foot wells fill with water. Now there are plants growing there. The upholstery is covered in mold and the interior electrics are gradually failing because of the damp. I have literally no idea what to do about it.

“Why don’t you just fix it, Daddy?” my son asks, confused.

“Why would I fix it? There’s plants growing out of the carpet. How cool is that?”

He had to agree, that’s pretty cool. I am so great at this Dad thing.