Monday, July 7, 2008

A trip into Space

I spent vast swathes of the school holidays on the East Coast in a tourer caravan permanently pitched in a holiday camp close to Filey, the name of which no one could ever agree on the pronounciation of. We rarely made it as far as Whitby; its seventy mile-or-so distance made it just out of my travel sickness range. This past weekend, up that way visiting J's parents in Richmond, we got there - bagging the front seat of the car always makes childish kinetosis more tolerable.


Joe said...

It might be seventy miles (actually, 63.8) from 'ull, bit it's only about twenty-five from Filey, and even less from Cayton Bay. Conversely, Google maps gives me 58.5 miles from my house to Whitby, and that's using Dennis's sneaky short-cuts. It's 60 miles for the uninitiated.

The moral of the story is that you should have made a 'let me go in the front' appeal at a younger age.


Jennifer Hodgson said...

Ah, but you were not around to witness the bitch-fightery that occured between little brother and I whilst fighting for prime position. Brutal!

Joe said...

Brutal, maaaan!

I think you quit too easily in these matters. In our family, older sibling automatically had dibs on the front seat unless there was a squeal of protest, in which case the matter was usually swiftly 'resolved'. You should have put Andy right in his place, or spewed in his Regency bouffant if he somehow made you go in the back.