|Deadly junction: http://goo.gl/maps/vkJyC#|
My mother did not meekly submit to this display of male prowess. The next week she and team were again first out of the car par. We came to the A21 line with Dad hot on our heels. Mum in the middle of the left of the road, front wheels on the line. As ever the traffic was heavy and Dad was incoming. Mum shouted, "Open the doors!" Four doors swung open to more shrieks. There was no way for another car to get safely to the line. They were blocked. Mum and her team were victorious. The roast beef and Yorkshire pud tasted better than ever that day. From that day on, childish overtaking at that junction was not fair play.*
Being the son of this crazy pair, I took the lesson to heart and thought. Surprise and cunning go a long way. When, at the age of 13, in my childish opinion, god seemed about as likely as Father Christmas, I played the anti-race. When the cry, "The cars are ready", came, I stayed on the sofa reading the Sunday Times. One of the drivers came back for me and said, "Are you coming?" I said, "No". There was no time, they gracefully accepted defeat. The race was on.
Laughed out loud reading this! Good tale and brought the memories flooding back. I scent a challenge, perhaps each of the brothers should try to come up with a similar tale of the lunacy involved in growing up in a family of 8 boys with such forgiving parents and the amazing freedom we enjoyed?
Posted by: Paul | July 23, 2014 at 08:06 AM
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