GPS

Yesterday’s corner time: 4 Minutes.

We actually missed our ferry back to England on our return from France.

Dad has recently bought one of these new global positioning systems which allow him to pinpoint his exact location anywhere in the world.

I don’t know why he just doesn’t ask me, as I’m generally sat directly behind him and can tell him precisely where he is, which is normally in the front seat of our car. Sometimes, I think he just buys gadgets for the sheer sake of it.

So, it was surprising when six minutes 40 seconds away from the port of Calais, Dad took a wrong turning onto a toll road bearing towards Paris. This unplanned detour added an extra 40 minutes to our journey time, resulting in our missed departure.

For some unknown reason, Dad believed that I was responsible for this deviation. I’m not sure why I should be blamed for us heading off in the wrong direction, especially when he has state of the art technology guiding him.

Was I bombarding him with senseless questions distracting him from listening to the GPS?

Well, perhaps.

Was I shouting about not wanting to go home but at the same time demanding to immediately see Nanna and Grandad John?

Hmm, quite possibly.

Was I responsible for launching my Superman doll into the front of the car, dislodging the GPS from the windscreen at the crucial moment?

Definitely not. It slipped out of my hand. I can’t be held accountable for its greasy surface.

When I heard the GPS mumbling something about Paris from the floor of the Car, I enquired if we were taking the scenic route to Calais at which point, Dad suggested that he was going to take my Superman doll and shove it somewhere that was far from picturesque.

Matthew.

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