Summer and Sat Navs Have Arrived

Wow, summer's arrived with a vengeance hasn't! Rain, rain, a bit of a cold blast, more rain, then suddenly blue skies and raging sun with no in-between bit to acclimatise us. We're like Eskimos suddenly tossed onto a Caribbean beach without warning.

So how many of you are sporting third degree burns right now? Yep, me too - I look like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle. Out in the street, there are many lobster-coloured people exposing acres of flesh who think suncream is for sissies (and will be screaming in agony later as they spontaneously combust).

It was hot yesterday when we went to surprise a mate who lives on The Other Side of Birmingham - aka the edge of the world for us 'southerners'. She was at some pub we'd never heard of, but fear not, we have (drum roll please) sat nav now, so we weren't going to turn into crisp corpses as we tacked our way across the West Midlands.

Marvellous little inventions aren't they, satellite navigations systems. Hubs resisted getting one for ages because he much prefers 'guessing' the way using his 'in-built compass' - it's a man thang, apparently they'll be struck by the wrath of God if they dare ask for directions or even think about consulting a map book.

It can be quite exciting getting lost, you see places that haven't witnessed humankind since the dawn of time and occasionally red-faced farmers shaking fists. Fun, unless you need to get somewhere on time, in which case domestic angst usually erupts and you have to consult the Little Book of Really Bad Expletives in order to express yourself (or, worse case scenario, the Yellow Pages for the contact details of the nearest divorce lawyers).

The first thing you have to decide with your new satellite system is what voice you'd like to guide the way. We thought an American female might be amusing, except we couldn't figure out what 'rotary' meant. "And I'm not being told what to do by a woman," Hubs huffed (as I stifled a little laugh).

You can, apparently, download Elvis Presley or Ozzy Osbourne to be your guide. I'd like Bernard Black: "I don't care where the feck you want t'go, just drive to the nearest off licence y'heathen." Or Keiffer Sutherland would be good: "Trust me, turn left." Or Gordon Brown: "Just make a U-turn and go back the way you came."

Or how about Hannibal Lector: "If you don't turn left I'm going to remove your spleen and eat it with some faver beans and a nice Chianti, ffff ffff ffff." That'd keep you on track wouldn't it.

We settled on Ken. Ken sounds rather nice and trustworthy. Ken will get us where we want to go.

Hubs programmed in The Pub We'd Never Heard Of and off we went. Mate lives in North Birmingham and we appeared to be heading due south. "Are you sure we're going the right way?" I kept saying to Hubs, to which he kept replying, "Ken knows the way, Ken will take us there."

When Ken twice said to turn left, Hubs answered (as if that isn't bad enough) by saying, "Heard you the first time, son."

Son!

Worrying.

We did get there in the end, but it's a bit like having your father in the car, beeping if you go too fast, flashing if there's speed cameras, and going all huffy if you don't follow exact directions. You half expect it to reach out and start slapping you round the face if you deviate in any way.

But the sheer joy on Hubs' face when Ken finally says 'You have reached your destination' makes up for all that.

I shall miss getting lost though.