OUR youngest is approaching a particularly important phase of his education.

Fifteen in a few weeks, he’s preparing for his GCSEs and being made to start thinking about career possibilities beyond the paper round that he shares with his mum.

He recently came home from school with the news that he and his fellow pupils had been given a test which involves 100 multiple-choice questions designed to point them towards the ideal career.

Somewhat bizarrely, Max’s recommended career came out as an “assistant airport manager”. Why his career can’t take off properly as a fully-fledged airport manager, rather than an assistant, is anyone’s guess, but that’s what the computer told him.

For the record, he has no current intention of being an assistant airport manager.

He does, however, want to fly all over the world as a rock drummer – and don’t the neighbours know it. If he ever does make it big, we’ll need to treat them all to a luxury spa.

In the meantime, when I got home from work one day last week, before I’d even got my coat off, I was coaxed by Max into taking the career-finder test myself, “But I’ve already got a career,” I protested. “I’ve had one for 30 years.”

“Yes, I know, Dad, but it’s never too late to find something you’re suited to,” came the reply.

I dwelled on this statement for a while and could see I wasn’t going to get any peace until I’d completed the test. So I embarked on such challenging multiple-choice questions as: How important is it to have a lot of variety in your work? How important is it to work outdoors? How important is team-work? How important is it to work in an office? How important is it to be responsible for others? How important is it to work with animals?

I’m sure you get the picture, and I had to tick one of four boxes each time: a) Very important; b) Important c) Quite important d) Not important.

Some were easy, some were harder.

By the time I’d got to halfway, I was losing the will to live but, mercifully, the computer gave me the option to stop at 50.

I pressed the button and allowed my answers to be assimilated. The computer whizzed, groaned a bit, froze for a few seconds, then ping!

There was the answer in capital letters on the screen: FUNERAL DIRECTOR.

Uncle At Large

I AM thrilled to announce – in the style of Margaret Thatcher – that, for the first time, we are an uncle.

Apparently, it was a 24-hour labour and Isabella Barron arrived in Los Angeles at a whopping 9lbs 11ozs.

I’m glad to report that my younger brother Paul is recovering well from the ordeal.

“What an amazing experience,”

he texted. “I’m absolutely shattered.

I had to sleep on the floor at the bottom of the bed.”

One of the purposes of this column over the past 21 years has been to make sure that what dads go through during childbirth is never underestimated.

Mum Daisy is apparently a touch on the tired side too.

THE THINGS DADS SAY

ANOTHER text arrived from my brother Paul the next day: “Both girls are fast asleep and I’m sitting here watching over them. Everything is brilliant.”

Aaah!

THE THINGS KIDS SAY

KELLY, who is on work placement at a primary school in Sussex, got in touch to tell me how one of the children in her class had been to Portugal on holiday.

Like most little kids his main diet was pizza, fish fingers, and pizza but the hotel in Portugal didn’t have such things on the menu. The lad had to make do with paella, king prawns, chorizo and sardines from the adult menu. All of which he took to like a local.

When he got back to school he was lining up for school dinners in the canteen. When the dinner lady asked him what he wanted, he asked: “Have you got any swordfish ?”