I'll admit it. I am rubbish at map reading. Truly rubbish. Super, mega, gigantically rubbish.
I'll also admit that I am prone to getting us a tiny bit lost now and then, because sometimes the map doesn't make a huge amount of sense, and I get distracted by the children shouting for something or other, or sometimes just start to daydream about how lovely it would be to live in that sweet tumbledown cottage over there, maybe on my own with lovely peace and quiet all day long (of course this is only an idle daydream, brought on by the utter boredom of being confined to car for hours and hours and hours which is about as far away from being amusing as Dullsville could possibly get. Frankly, anyone who views this driving for hours lark as a form of entertainment should be incarcerated for their own safety without further ado).
Anyway, I digress.
So mea culpa and all that, but why should a small detour from the dull old autoroute onto a quite charming country lane result in such a carry-on from Alpha? I mean, screaming at your adoring wife to such an extent you go all red in the face with poppy eyes really can't be terribly good for the constitution. And the swearing, well! Let's just say that the children now know at least three new words they will be able to trade for added school playground kudos upon our return to the Kensington Bubble.
I finally persuaded Alpha that his insisting on my legendary navigation skills in preference to the bonus Sat Nav in our Budget rental was not only bloody stupid but would be sure to result in the prompt division of our assets and a lifetime of microwave meals for one. Finally, after a last surge of rage followed by some grumpy pacing down said country lane, Alpha turned the Sat Nav on.
May I just say how delightful this little Sat Nav invention is? Not only does it tell you how many more ghastly hours of having to endure the sort of conditions a battery hen would sneer at remain, the little minx even has a sultry French accent. We called it 'Cecile'; never before did I think that another woman would save our marriage.
Hurrah for computer wizardry! (And hurrah for never having to look at another silly map ever again.)