But as much as she would have gladly swapped with me the cold, dreary wait at Blackpool Railway Station for my rather stress-free browse around Aylesbury's shopping centre, assured that my bus was 10 minutes away and I would be there on time, I would quite easily explain to her that she would not like my luck on public transport.
I've been on my first two weeks of placements for my journalism for the past fortnight, working at the Bucks Free Press last week and the Bucks Herald this week. I was fortunate last week that my dad drove me to the Bucks Free Press' headquarters in Loudwater to attend my placement with them, during which the biggest story I wrote was about a bus lane.
I really enjoyed it, writing a story that got published in a regional newspaper and knowing I had been out and counted cars on two half-hour occasions and worked hard for it. It was rewarding, as writing news stories can often be.
But since then, public transport has been paying me back.
This week, I have been getting up early to get a bus to Aylesbury to work on the Bucks Herald. I missed the bus on Wednesday and was going to have to pay a local taxi driver an extortionate £17 to get to the Bucks Herald, more than four times the price of the £4 return trip on the bus.
Granted, taxi drivers have to make some living so of course they will charge more than a bus, and taxis get you to your exact destination with no stops, but this price was just extortionate. Fortunately, my dad offered me a lift. No win for the bus this time.
But today, public transport really did 'do me over.'
Let's go back to Aylesbury shopping centre, browsing the PS3 bundle offers in Game. I went to get my bus and checked as usual the details of my bus on one of those cute, little computers they now provide in any good bus station near you. Time, 17.45: check. Bay number, two: check.
Everything seemed to be going to plan; I was on my bus and happily on my journey home. Until my bus did something like this.
It seemed to go all around the houses, and not just a few. I could have sworn blind it went around every house in Buckinghamshire. I thought it was a bit strange when the journey took a detour through Wendover, where a lot of people got off.
Make that everyone. Everyone had got off the bus, apart from the driver, obviously. 'Something's up', I thought. It became clear when the driver pulled up and turned around on a T-junction ready to turn back that I had got on the wrong bus.
So instead of the bus I checked the details of thoroughly on that ever-so-convenient computer back at the bus station taking me back to my home town Tring, the evil computer had sent me on this route.
That's right. I had ended up in RAF Halton. Fortunately for me, my dad was at hand once again to bail me out of a public transport disaster. Though public transport can defeat me, it certainly cannot defeat my dad.
Perhaps it's an age thing and by his age I will be able to withstand the bullying buses. That would explain why so many old people get buses.
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