Note to Self – Do Not Travel by Car on Bank Holidays.

It’s the bank Holiday weekend, the weather is glorious, the suns beaming down and the birds are singing. It truly is weather worthy of slapping on the suntan lotion, sunglasses and for the brave people getting out those pasty winter legs. (I am not one of the brave ones).

Bank Holiday Travel….

Families all across Britain are out in their gardens enjoying the rare sunny weather, children are playing and BBQ’s are on the go. We, like many other families,are sat in a sweltering car in a traffic jam heading from Leeds to Scarborough, were I think practically everyone else is heading by the look of the queue ahead.

My husband who is the driver for the day is deeply regretting not stopping at the last service station (because he needs the toilet) and the kids are complaining about the Supermarket own brand Diet Coke I have been handing out! OK, maybe I shouldn’t have cut corners trying to save cash on that one.

Looking out of the window all I can see is car after car and people getting out of their cars to get refreshments from the boots of their vehicles, whilst on the Motorway may I add.

My husband had spent a few hours before we set off making a compilation of his favourite songs to play in the car whilst on our journey. The funny thing is it doesn’t work in our CD player. So, he is having to endure listening to my 80’s music instead, this appears to be winding him up ha!

My youngest son has turned the back seat of the car into a portable version of his bedroom, with gadgets and gizmo’s everywhere. How our poor car battery will cope! with the additional charging required to keep his moving bedroom powered throughout the journey.

With his headphones on, my son is in his element. My husband keeps getting ridiculously excited when the car in front starts to move, even if it only is at a snail’s pace and for about half a yard.

My Husbands face is a picture!

When an articulated lorry attempts to pull in front of us my husband’s face is a picture and some very choice words flow quite loudly from his mouth.

I am slowly running out of in-car excitement when all of a sudden the song ‘Gold’ by Spandau Ballet comes on the radio. This instantly changes the mood for a short time and sparks in-car karaoke.

Even though it seems to be only me singing , very loudly and to my family’s extreme embarrassment, I can tell because the car windows close rapidly . The dog in the car at the side of us with his head hanging out for air even looks fed up! (I don’t think the poor pooch can hear my singing).

After a further 30 minutes without moving the need for the toilet is now getting more desperate and the bushes by the side of the road are looking very inviting.

My husband’s conspiracy for what is causing this traffic jam from hell has gone from an accident ahead to a fire after seeing a cloud of thick black smoke in the distance, only to realise the smoke was coming from a Steam Train out for a Bank Holiday. (This made us all laugh, another no no when you need the toilet!)

What Games do you play in Traffic Jams?

To my horror, my husband decided we were going to play charades, I don’t think he has realised you actually need space to act out the charades, but he continued with the game anyway. At this point I was losing the will to live!

We started to move and pass two cars on the side of the road that have broken down and wonder if this has been the cause of the traffic jam?

Sadly not, as there is still no end to the traffic just car after car. Without a toilet break in sight I was sat with legs crossed, joining the other thousands of Brits with their buckets and spades attempting to get to the seaside for some Bank Holiday fun. Our journey from Leeds to Scarborough by car was supposed to take 1 hour 33 minutes and it actually had taken us just over 3 hours in total with the bank holiday traffic jams.

I suppose the morale of this story is set off a little earlier to escape the massive influx of people heading to the coast over the bank holiday weekends.

I have to ask myself why do we do this, queuing, waiting for hours to arrive at the seaside? I suppose it’s because we are British and that is how we roll!