I clung on for dear life in the front passenger seat as my mother drove like a maniac along the Roman roads. She was showing off to FR, who was sitting in the back of the Volvo. My last attempt to persuade her against taking even more dangerous manoeuvres was to invent the narrative that I would be forced to relate if/when she caused a serious accident (provided that I survived it, of course).
Eventually we reached the hotel at our final destination (still intact). We recognised some of the couples with small children who were checking out. We’d met them before at DT-J’s wedding. They admitted that they had spent the weekend with D and K, celebrating their wedding anniversary. I felt a bit aggrieved not to have been invited to the party myself.