After one of Mum's winter cooked breakfasts, with fried bread, I hitched a lift to Bristol with Mum, Dad and Jen first thing on Christmas Eve, being able to hold my sister's hand under the car rug most of the way. The roads actually weren't too busy, most sensible people having taken the Monday and Tuesday off work, and departed for their destination the previous Friday. We drove through Corby and Market Harborough, enjoying the prettiness of the Welland Valley (if you discounted the modern atrocity that British Steel had built at the front of the older Stewarts and Lloyds steel works, which at least were still wearing some of their wartime camouflage paint).Just south of Lutterworth, at the A5 roundabout on our way to join the M6 at junction 1, we got cut up by some pig-ignorant git in his new N-registration Rover; Dad had been driving cautiously anyway, but muttered a bad word as part of a sentence which also included 'road', 'shouldn't' and 'be on'. Mum contented herself by. He noted that The Great Man was flanked by two gorgeous young women and he wondered how Jemima felt about his endless womanising. Jemima paid no particular attention to Robin and most of the time addressed herself to a woman sitting beside her who looked as if she’d had several face lifts. The woman when she spoke hardly moved her mouth, and gave the impression that she was terrified that if she did open her mouth too wide or made any facial expression, the whole hugely expensive edifice would collapse. He recognised her as the wife of a prominent banker. He looked at Jemima carefully, trying to think of what she might want. To his surprise he realised he had not once been completely alone with Jemima since just before her marriage. Always there had been others clustered round her, alternatively one or more of the dark suits always seemed to be hovering close by. The company ploughed its way through several courses as The Great Man continued to regale them with his wit and insights..
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