Serving hard time in an Austin.
The whole family were packed into my Fathers golden-brown Austin Princess on the long drive down to my Grandparents for Christmas.
This bi-annual trip was hell, a five hour trip packed into the back of a small uncomfortable car with my brother and sister whilst sat on duvets and coats with every spare inch of space around us stuffed full with luggage and presents.

Mum would pass round Barley Sugars upon the sighting of a yellow car or the crossing of a river, which ever came first.

Dad would listen to his mix tape, which as far as I can remember had two songs on it, one was a song about missiles flying over heads by Status Quo and the other was about a Ghost Train by Madness.

And this is how it went for mile after mile. The sucking horrible squelchy noises of Barley Sugars been eaten. “If you want to survive, get out of bed” wailing from the radio. “You’re over my side!” wailing from the back.

The sound of someone else noisily eating boiled sweets tapping away against your brain, like some form of audio water torture for endless hours on end.

Then you get the brief respite of the service station. But of course it’s no real respite at all; you can’t go in the shop or play in the arcades. There isn’t enough time or money. It’s not on the schedule.

You have got exactly 5 minutes to go to the toilet, eat your warm ham and lettuce sandwich and then look ridiculous as you walk the bloody cat round the car park on a piece of string.

Then it’s back into the car. Goodbye Leigh Delamere West. Hello another two and a half hours drive.

It’s enough to fray the very robust of nerves. Someone always snapped. There was always a row. The car was a tinderbox by hour 3. Anything could set anybody off.

And on this particular instance it was me accidentally tearing the new road map, and my Dad turned round in his seat red faced with rage and yelling.

As he turned away the cars in front of us screeched to a halt. And my Dad swore and we all screamed as we skidded towards the back of a yellow Ford Anglia, nobody claiming their Barley Sugar, and we stopped with smoke bellowing from the tyres with literally an inch between us and the car in front. We were safe. And the family feud.
( Dervel OTBC, Thu 12 Nov 2009, 16:59, 3 replies)

Teehee...

(Scritty Bakerman., Fri 13 Nov 2009, 0:05, closed)

heh...

(Mousy Tongue ...Generally bemused by life..., Fri 13 Nov 2009, 5:58, closed)

Brilliant story, lovely twist

(TheColonel, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 13:08, closed)