Also known as “never let grandparents get involved.” They will question everything you know or thought you knew about driving, your sense of direction, and general sanity.
It is a well-known fact that if you tell someone where they are going, then they will be much less flustered by roundabouts. It is also a well-known(ish) fact that the route between Irvine and Troon is 98% roundabouts.
Apparently “not right” also means “turn right”, not left. Go figure. Alternatively, go somewhere else.
It took a while to realise that Troon was actually the destination. At no point did the antiques roadshow tell me that this was the intended point of arrival – they piled into the car and I assumed that they wanted me to drive it. Suffices to say that this was a long and ponderous drive that occasionally had me wondering whether they were directing me into the sea. Occasionally that didn’t seem like a bad idea.
The mighty little gutless wonder of a hire car made it over hill and dale, pavement and roundabout. It conquered roadworks and ditches, dubious parking spaces and whatever a yard is.
For the record, I should have brushed up on how many metres were in a yard. It would have made some of the road signs MUCH more helpful.
On the bright side, baby bunnies frolicked on the roadside while I was pottering around, wondering where the assortment of related fossils were directing me this time. No photos could be had, but they offered a small amount of fluffy zen while I considered death by roundabout.
But either way, I have survived and am writing this at Glasgow airport, preparing for my flight to Gatwick and drive to Cambridge. Starbucks and free internet of dubious quality is making slight headway on my mood. It has its work seriously cut out. Have an inspirational picture that looks a lot like the woods around where I’ve just spent the last week.