There were not three, but four of us, in that relationship. To say nothing of the dog...
All four (or five) of us were stuck inside the moving Toyota Alphard (aka Alphie) converted campervan. No wonder the atmosphere inside it was often volatile.
“You are over the speed limit!” George would crackle in his rough ear-grating voice.
“Oh, George, here you go again!” my wife would exclaim. “Don’t you see that we are actually standing in a queue?”
“Yes, George, why don’t you shut up once and for all?” I would echo from the driver’s seat.
“At the roundabout in 800 metres, take the third exit and turn right,” Liz would butt in. She spoke with a posh accent, which made her sound permanently annoyed...
Heading for Dumfries, I was driving Alphie through the Scottish Borders, which H V Morton once described as a “queer compromise between fairyland and battlefield”. It was our fifth camping journey this year, and by now I could proudly admit that we had learned the...