Road trip No. 2. Naked Road Dog.

13.50. M4. As two and a half litres of volvo thunders beneath my thighs the steering twitches as we stray onto the cats eyes…. and a small boy asks: Are we still in London, and we can't say no because the minute we do we know the next question will be: Are we at the bridge?

Are we at the bridge yet?

Knock it down a cog, give it some throttle, catch me white van man if you've got the bottle.

Are we at the bridge yet?

And tramps like us... Baby we were born to motor down to cardiff in a Volvo estate at a sensible speed due to having children on board.

Road Runner Road Runner doing sensible miles an hour.

Are we at the bridge yet?

And I drift into a maserati drop top two lane black top full head of hair kind of reverie.

Are we at the bridge yet?

Then we ARE at the bridge and I realise the purpose of the high fences either side… They are to stop parents (Crying. 'Yes we are fucking at the bridge') from flinging seven year olds from cars as they cross.

Are we still in London?

I promise you that this is a genuine question asked by a seven year old as he crosses the severn Bridge.

I mentally dock his pocket money £6.20 to pay for the troll reminding him that in fairy tales they just ate you as you crossed, they didn't fleece you beforehand.

You wanna see a road dog naked?.. Just stand downwind of the Severn bridge.

TBC

Road Trip. For road Dogs everywhere, empathy man!

11.00 am West 10. Head on down to Sainsbury's Ladbroke Grove to gas up. They only have City Diesel but we are heading off piste, will city diesel work in the sticks?  We are road dogs and will chance it. The air machine ain't working; gonna have to wing the rubber then.  Shit! No boiled sweets at the checkout… Don't they know that road dogs don't do fudge or jellybabies!

12.00 Midday. Car loaded with 3 kids and their toys, little room for essentials apart from 6 bottles of Evian. In light of the oncoming storms I have packed 5 chocolate chip cookies and tobacco; cigarettes is the only way to deal with the cries of freezing children. it would be criminal to share my smokes with them so at least I have something to rely on… I may be a road dog but I care for my children's welfare as they freeze in the snow bound wastes of the M4.

We are off.

12.10. Hammersmith. London. ten minutes into the trip boy number two vomits copiously, refusing offer of gumboot or window as target chooses to vomit liberally throughout passenger compartment. We are road dogs…

12.12. A4. Garage stop to hose down boy number two. Boy number two seems pleased with the attention gained. Good news though, garage has boiled sweets. Bad news: Baby wipes left on car roof. Good news for someone else: Free pack of baby wipes found on A4.

12.27. A4. After a smooth transition to gear 5 we are Westbound.

Me. I'm the king of the road in my vomit scented chariot, wondering how many times I can put up with a seven year old asking if we are there yet.

I feel like telling him that he is closer to hell than to Cardiff.

And then the baby cries and I know it can only get worse.

But we are road dogs.

TBC