We always have car trouble, the Greek God(zilla) and I.
But up until last week, the SatNav has always been the one thing to cause it.
The Greek God(zilla) has had many a fallout with the NavMan.
I have tried to defend him on many occassions, but ever since he directed us the wrong way down a one-way street, I feel he has brought the wrath of the Greek God(zilla) all upon himself.
I have tried not to take sides, but they can no longer even be in the same room together.
I can only be seen out with the NavMan when the Greek God(zilla) is not with me and when I am out with the Greek God(zilla), I am not allowed to even mention the NavMan name.
I’m sure they’ll make up just as soon as I work out how to download the updated software and the Greek God(zilla) works out how to follow the voice prompts, but until then we will just have to make do with my husband’s internal sense of direction… which is why we have not been out on any long road trips recently.
It was not ideal timing for the car to need a replacement gearbox.
For starters, they are expensive.
Plus, not a quick job and we had planned to visit family by the sea at the weekend to celebrate my nephew’s 3rd birthday, plus wish bon voyage to my brother, who was about to embark on an Australian adventure.
After much to-ing and fro-ing and ruling out of taxis, hire cars and thoughts of cancelling altogether, we decided we would take the train.
Except the buggy was still in the boot of our car and our car was spending the weekend in Wapping with a strapping young car mechanic called Troy.
The thought of carrying a threenager, a gift for the birthday boy, toys, books, snacks and wine across Central London was not in the least bit appealing, but a lovely local friend jumped to our rescue and buggy’d us up for the weekend.
It was a bright and sunny morning when we set off.
We wandered over London Bridge.
Once on the train we had juice & a muffin, read Stick Man and The Snail & the Whale, played with Buzz & Woody and counted ducks and sheep and boats…
… the Greek God(zilla) read the newspaper.
It was actually quite pleasant. We arrived in one piece, not in the least bit frazzled or still reeling over something the NavMan had said.
We were met at the station and taken to my parents house where wine and cake awaited us.
We played pass the parcel, opened presents and stepped over the hungover bodies of ten 20-somethings who had crashed on the floor following my brother’s Bon Voyage party the night before
which we had not been invited to.
Eventually, the time came for us to start heading back to London. We loaded the buggy up with leftovers, gratefully accepted a lift back to the station and got ready for another perfectly pleasant journey.
Except this time our threenager had been awake all day, over stimulated by people and toys and was heading for an almighty sugar crash.
It started with a grunt of disapproval when I refused him chocolate; to a whack on my arm when I pointed to boats out of the window; to a full blown kicking and screaming tantrum when I allowed him to watch Peppa Pig on the iPad but requested it not be played at full volume.
He then lost it again when we walked back over the bridge. You can’t see it clearly in this photo but his face is filled with FURY at having to stop and pose for this photo.
“He has quite a voice on him” commented a man on the last train we took to get us home.
At that moment, the Greek God(zilla) and I had never missed the SatNav man more.
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