The weekend. A trip to see Dad in Huddersfield. 13 hours in total side by side in the hire car. A real chance to address the burning issues of our relationship, to get to trips with the inner workings of our minds, to tackle some sticking points to, well, to play 'Yellow Car Punch'.
When I'm stuck in a car, my brain becomes devoid of any real activity apart from inane thoughts about other drivers, and the occasional spurt of dodgy song lyrics. I'm not someone who likes to natter away in a car. I'm happy to sit and watch the world go by, peer into cars we overtake and make rude comments about the drivers and ponder over what car I'd like, if I could afford to buy one.
The only other integral part of a long journey is of course the great, 'Yellow car punch' game. For those who are unfamiliar, the basic concept is that each yellow car on the road equates to one punch. Whoever spots said yellow car first is allowed to administer a punch to the other person, as hard and wherever they fancy- thighs are the best (especially during a long journey).
This is a game my brother and I used to play in the 80's when yellow cars were quite fancy and so few and far between. Nowadays, there are millions of them.
The game always starts fairly. We're both short sighted so we peer onto the horizon to try and spot an impending 'yellow'. I have the upper hand as I'm not driving so can afford to be a little more vigilant. Unfortunately, as with most games, cheating can play a part and rear its ugly little head. This weekend, cheating came in the form of some tenuous 'calls'. During some road works, I received a knuckle bashing after a JCB was spotted sitting on the side of the road, this then descended into yellow road signs and the final straw, number plates. Even I couldn't keep up with the punching. The net result of this game is: DANGER. At one point I knew it was time to call it a day when Steve was swerving around the fast lane, doing 90, trying to land one on my arm with me screaming and laughing and trying to retaliate.
Being grown up is massively overrated.
1 comment:
all proper grown ups know that we're just pretending until our children realise thats its all just pretending. IN the meantime they may have learnt some manners (probably not though).
We used to play punch herby (VW beetles) which is the 1970's were also not few and far between and I had a real heffer of a not very friendly friend back then who used to take great pleasure in making people cry. We play the alphabet game instead - much tamer. Or guess who (but Ben invariably doesn't actually know anything but the name of his famous person and this can go on for hours and make you also want to hit people - usually Ben or Gavin).
Do not die on a motorway - its very irresponsible of you both
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