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The Worst Journey of my Life
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Everyone knows the recipe for a "worst journey2. Take a hot Summer weekend, and one average-sized family car. Load wife into said car; and if she's the old fashioned type, who still believes that kids can be kept amused with off-key renderings of "Ten Green Bottles", so much the better.

Top up with kids and toys, fruit and any kind of drink which goes all sticky when it's spilt. Any remaining space could be filled with family pets, friends of kids or in-laws. Then, spend hours conveying this load to some attraction a minimum of eighty miles away, preferably one that holds no actual interest for anyone on board.

But, just a minute? Does that count as a Worst Journey'? I mean, if it's so gruesome ....... why does the world and his uncle do it every week-end?

So, what's this Journey from Hell look like from a kid's point of view? I tried to remember trips from when I was a kid. That should have been fertile ground for a good story. My Dad had an elderly Sunbeam Talbot rag-top (a very appropriate description, in this case) which he handled like the Fordson tractor on which he learnt to drive.

You couldn't play I Spy', because you couldn't see anything from the back seat. For the same reason, you couldn't count Eddie Stobart trucks, even if there were any in those days. There was no point in demanding sweets, because they were still on ration. You couldn't even listen to the radio, because it only worked after dark, and then only with the headlights off. You couldn't hear it, anyway, because of the noise the canvas hood made at any speed over walking pace.

I think, on the rare occasions we did go for a long trip in that car, we must have just gone to sleep for want of anything else to do.

But, when I recently came upon a similar car at the County Show, I stopped for a word with the owners. She wore a flapper-style dress (at least 10 years older than the car, but who notices any difference?) and he wore a striped blazer and boater, and carried a wicker picnic basket. And, they told me Those Were the Days!

When you get to my age, you can look back to your mis-spent youth to try to find a Worst Journey. There were no Ministry of Transport vehicle inspections in those days, and most of us owned and drove as eclectic a collection of clunkers as you'd find anywhere. Somewhere, there has to be a story.

But, it all happened so long ago. The Morris Ten which shot a gallon of muddy water up your trouser leg if you happened to drive through a puddle with

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