Are we there yet?

24 08 2009

At 21 that is a phrase I rarely use. To be honest I didn’t really use it much as a child either. Armed with my “stuff to do bag” I could happily amuse myself for hours. But today I am fighting the urge to harasse my stepdad about the countdown to my freedom. I’m squashed i the back of the car with my little sister who is making her way through the various stages of tired i.e giddy, moody, weepy, and my 6 foot odd brother who has solved the tired problem by falling fast asleep and sprawling himself across as much of the back seat as possible. I don’t mind this so much. I didn’t even complain when my brother lashed out in his slepp which made me stab myself in the arm with a pencil (I just think of it as a war wound from the journey!) But the insistence to have Heart fm blaring from the speakers, and subsequently the sat nav on full volume, is driving me insane. We’re on a motorway, it’s pretty straightforward. I don’t understand why Mr TomTom, in this case a camp sounding Clint Eastwood, has to pipe up so often.
Headphones are in and Metallica turned up full blast just about drowns out my Mum singing along to Ebony and Ivory. She’s excited that we’re on a family trip. She has reason to be so chirpy, she has leg room and the food.
I gaze out the window wondering if the sheep & cows are purposely put in fields near motorways to amuse passengers on long journeys…

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