Morag from Manama

I’ve seen countless female friendships implode in this expat life due to this and it usually ends in tears. Ignorantly, and without any prior experience, I too have been a victim … yep, a victim of the curse of the car-share/car-pool fiasco.

All I can say is before entering into such an agreement – be it with friends or neighbours – a warning should be issued: enter at your own risk!

You may start out with good intentions but, believe me, it will only be a matter of time before you find yourself reversing out of Alosra car park when you recognise their car, be standing at opposite ends of the playground at pick-up time and wearing your sunglasses at night down the rugby club to avoid eye contact with those ex-friends of yours.

You may have liked these people to begin with but take my word for it, you may only get one school term of car-sharing/car-pooling under your belt before the niggles start and tensions simmer, let alone the bitching.

First warning: the person who cleverly suggests the idea of car-sharing/car-pooling is generally the one to benefit from it the most, or in other words the one that conveniently draws up a rota to her advantage whilst the others fit in around her selfish needs.

This may take some time before being noticed but, boy, when it becomes transparent, it will start to irritate you like an itchy mosquito bite that you can’t quite reach.

Second warning: there’s the ‘do-gooder’ mum that can’t say no and will be the one to pick up all the slots on the rota that others can’t do, even though it’s now making her life trickier than before she entered into the equation.

Her resentment builds whilst she’s stuck again in traffic with a car full of kids that aren’t even hers. You know what they say about the quiet ones: when they finally explode, its game over!

Third warning: one of the kids is going to be that sweet, lovable, airy child that has no concept of time. I mean, what’s the rush, you’ve only been waiting 25 minutes in the baking heat with three other sweaty, restless kids and now you’re going to be late for your own kid’s hockey practice!

Fourth warning: there is always, and I mean always, one mum that is not a morning person and, therefore, their kids aren’t either. Patiently you will be waiting outside their villa with the clock ticking as you imagine the tailback at the lights getting longer than the Forth Road Bridge. Say no more.

Then, one day, when no-one can take it anymore, the rota is shredded and places are booked on the school bus.

You have been warned.