GlasgowYou don’t get the feel of anything from the back seat of a car. The back seat symbolises the least important person in the car. And us driving to Scotland symbolised the least important person in dad’s company. There was no conversation to be had because the music, which was just barely discernible in the front, blared in the back. It happens in cheap cars. Therefore we didn’t get beyond the ‘can you turn that down a bit, please?’ level of conversation. Reading was out of the question in case I projected vomit over the back of mum’s brand s******g new demi-wave. I’m a bad traveller. Everything just whizzed past in series of greys, greens and whites. I fixed my eyes on a dead fly stuck to the window; the car was filthy. It could have been worse, that fly could have been me. I was ali
