On Saturday I embarked on a journey with my daughter to South London to see my sister-in-law and her family. It was the first time I travelled there without my husband and I was slightly anxious about getting there and back without any mishaps. So I placed all my faith in the trusty Garmin sat nav machine. Before I reversed off our drive, I entered the destination postcode and it kept coming up with a different road name to the one I intended – that didn’t bode well. So before I even reversed the car off the drive, I had to ring the doorbell and summon my husband’s help. (At this point I was starting to feel pathetic and incapable of doing anything without a male). He programmed the road name instead and off we went.
A while later (and after having listened to the entire 1st CD of the recent Now that’s what I call music with my daughter bopping away in the back) we arrived on the drive of my sister-in-laws. I felt very chuffed with myself and half expected my brother-in-law to greet me at the door with a certificate. No, he was just glad to see us and we spent a lovely day there.
So on our departure, we said our goodbyes, I encouraged them to “go back inside its far too cold for you to be waving us goodbye” (while really thinking I don’t want you all staring at me while I re-programme the sat nav for the return journey). I then powered up the machine and (rather cockily) selected the ‘go home’ button and then hit ‘go’. It programmed the route and we were off. As we crawled our way through the London traffic I didn’t have a care in the world as I faithfully followed the route of the all knowing machine. “Why this is a doddle I say to myself as my daughter and I bop to the 2nd CD of Now that’s what I call music cruising down Tooting high street. Hang on a minute……Tooting? I am sure we didn’t come this way on our way in, or, for that matter, on our way out on previous visits when hubby was driving. Oh well, the sat nav must know something I don’t. So I maintained my faith and continued driving.
When my bum started to ache, I looked to see if any of the journey was familiar. No, although I do remember being in Reigate a few years ago….Reigate? Why are we here? Oh the M25, right its taking us that way….OK I will not lose faith in the all singing all dancing sat nav – it knows best I must not start to question its authoritaaaa like my husband does when he thinks he knows a quicker route (which never turns out to be quicker….he just knows it better).
So on the M25, I was still faithfully abiding by the directions as we sailed past the M23, which, would be our turning home when on the M25. Oh, the sat nav must be aware of roadworks/ crash a better route than the one we have been following for years. I will continue along the lovely purply pink line on the sat nav map like Dorothy on the yellow brick road.
OK my bum was really starting to hurt, M25 seemed to becoming a too dominant feature of this journey and nearly 2 hours had passed. I observed a road-sign…..’KENT!’ WTF…..I glance at the sat nav which states the estimated arrival time of 1am WHAT! A horrible sick feeling momentarily appeared as I realised we were not going home – we were going further and further away from home and we were due to go out to dinner later that evening for the first time in ages – not OK.
I quickly re-programmed the sat nav to our post-code and after a short delay in re-programming it promptly requested me to do a u-turn at the next exit – I am tempted to chuck it out of the window but realised i still needed the darn thing to get home….grrrrr.
So I am then having to wind my way back though the speed limited road-work section of the M25, which I didn’t mind so much when I was travelling south-bound as I thought I was going in the right direction. When I finally get on the M23 an accident further up the carriageway brings all 3 lanes abruptly to a halt. When the sat nav reads 0mph it beeps to tell me there has been an accident….(thanks for letting me know I say with gritted teeth) “what?” says my daughter in the back – “nothing just go back to sleep we will be home soon”.
By the time I get home we had been on the road for almost 3 hours. When I explain this to my husband he gives me a smile of sympathy with a hint of patronising “oh bless…..you used the go home button didn’t you”. I say in indignation “Well you use that all the time and it’s never gone wrong before.” He replied, “the last time I used it was when we stayed for a week in Brittany………it was taking you to France via Dover.”
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