It's over, it's over! IT'S OOOOOOVER!

After a bumpy flight from the USA (where I gripped onto the seat in front of me for dear life, whilst the other passengers clung valiantly onto their glasses of dinner wine), along with a touch of food poisoning from the in-flight 'meals', we finally set foot on British soil again.

Damp. Grey. Miserable. And, of course, raining. Post-holiday blues hit us like a sledgehammer attached to a speeding truck. I would have cried, but I didn't have the strength.

We waited an hour for our 'courtesy' bus back to the hotel where we'd left our car. It started straight away, and Hubs drove on the right side of the road almost immediately.

We set off. It was a terrible journey. The roads around London were busy and frantic. Then there was a downpour and everything came to a virtual standstill. More traffic. Nothing like the long, empty roads of Arizona (sigh).

A mere hour from home, Hubs had to pull into a service station because of chronic jet-lag. He could barely see straight he was so tired. We both fell asleep in the car for a long time. When we woke up, the car wouldn't start. Hubs had left the lights on.

He yelled, "Get out and push!" in a semi-conscious but quite forceful way. I was a bit taken aback because (a) Hubs never yells, and (b) I don't do car pushing.

Despite (b), I found myself at the back of the car pushing against it with everything I had, which admittedly wasn't a lot, not with jet-lag and food poisoning. I was heaving and gasping and thrusting and... er, straining. The car suddenly stopped. Hubs had put on the brakes.

"Why have you slammed on the brakes?" I cried.

And Hubs replied (and get this), "Did you not see that car coming?"

"No!" I hollered back, "Because I'm facing the ground shoving a ton of berluddy metal across the sodding tarmac! I didn't realise I had to watch for traffic at the same berluddy time!"

It was then that I stomped off into the service station for some Coke or Red Bull or Speed tablets, anything to keep us awake. Behind me I heard Hubs marching over to some rugby players and bawling, "Bloody fell asleep with the lights on, can you give us a push?"

They did, quite impressively in fact, and off we set again. Only because the battery was flat, it affected our sat nav system, which was programmed to take us to the boarding kennels to pick our dog up.

"Pretty sure we shouldn't be heading towards Coventry," Hubs kept saying, but on we carried.

Eventually realising that Coventry is nowhere near the kennels, Hubs turned around and went back down the same motorway for 80 odd miles.

I rang the kennels: "We're going to be late!" I cried.

"Pick him up tomorrow," they insisted.

We wouldn't get our dog back until tomorrow!

We eventually made it home at 5.30pm, seven hours after we'd landed.

Nice to be back (not!)

I'm sure normality will return at some point, just as soon as I figured out what 'normal' is (there was certainly no sign of it before we went on holiday) and when I've dug myself out of the pile of washing.

Meantime, this song pretty much says it all...

(A Naïve Brit's Guide to an American Road Trip)

Brummie Broad: Here every Tuesday
Brummie Blogs: There the rest of the time.