A Drive on the Surreal Side

Driving can be dull, though it’s best not to ask B what she thinks.  Judging by how wild her eyes get and how white her knuckles are afterwards, car rides with me are more turbulent than tranquil, more joy-ride than joyful.  I of course think everything is going fine, until there is a little squeak from beside me and my wife’s hands shoot up from the thing they were crushing to cover her mouth.  It’s understandable really.  B learnt to drive at 18 and has therefore been driving for REDACTED years.  I learnt to drive when I was 28, which was a long time after B and so she looks upon my driving the way a mouse might think about a new neighbourhood cat, an unwelcome addition to its life that is likely to kill it one day.  

I've told you before.  I am not getting into a car with you.

Intruder Alert

Scene: Just sitting in the car waiting to go out on a Sunday afternoon

N: (Looking into the front window) there’s someone in our house.

Me: (Looking startled as we’d just locked up) Who?

N: Nora

Me: What’s she doing?

N: Getting our cheese.

I would like to make it clear that I don’t know a single person called Nora (although if I do I’m really sorry I’ve forgotten about you) N doesn’t know a single person called Nora and we have certainly never had a Nora who has come and got our cheese.  Just another adventure in the feverish imagination of my three year old little girl!