Do you remember those endless car journeys when you were you were a kid? Stuck in the back of a hot, sweaty and uncomfortable car whilst your folks dragged you to another destination that you probably didn’t want to go to anyway. My dad was one of the worse, he liked driving and he wanted to inflict it on the rest of us, so a lot of the time we were forced on something even worse than the pointless journey somewhere, the pointless journey going nowhere, yes, the Sunday Drive. Or if we actually did have to go somewhere, go by the quickest, most convenient, in the actual direction that you’re meant to be going route, noooo, that wasn’t for my dad. We’d have countless journeys across the A and B roads of Britain (and the more ‘B’ the better as far as my dad was concerned), knowing full well that even taking traffic jams into account the motorway would have been a lot quicker.
So, now as a non-driving adult I still don’t like long car journeys. I didn’t mind them for a while, in the first few years of mine and Mr. Lacer’s relationship it was long distance, I used to enjoy those car trips where it would give us a chance to catch up, and even when we were living together, our idea of a dream holiday was a road trip through the States. But now I have kids of my own, I hate long road journeys again, I remember precisely how boring and uncomfortable being stuck in the back of that car was and seeing the expressions on my bored and tantruming pre-schoolers, I remember it even more. Their feelings of boredom, apathy and lack of control seep through from the back seat to the front and all I want is for the journey to end.
