The Golf lesson had been booked and all that remained was to leave early and avoid the gridlocked traffic. As with most things, the devil was in the detail. Maps and I have history. Two weeks previously, the Golf Police had sprung an ambush in the car. The motorway junction had been missed. It was a joint miss, shared between driver and navigator.
“Find the map” he said. “We need to be heading south east”.
The map was the usual mystery of multi coloured criss -crossing lines. I tried to be helpful.
“Why don’t you use the Sat Nav?”
“Why can’t you just read the map?”
“Why don’t we stop and ask someone?”
“Just look at the map”.
I looked. It didn’t help. South east was not looking hopeful. It was where the page creased in the middle and France edged ever closer before we reached our destination. continue reading…
