Don’t Drive Back in Anger

I was up with the larks this morning as Strachan’s cabs had a 4.30am booking to take two twentysomething customers to Leeds/Bradford airport (LBA).

The larks weren’t in the best of moods after the suspension of the Brooks brothers from the TV karaoke show X Factor. However, they still managed a disingenuous smile as I sleepily walked past them to my dew covered car.

The passengers, my daughter Rachel and her friend Laura, shrugged off early morning fatigue with upbeat thoughts of a week long vacation on the Balkan peninsula.

As I endeavoured to get the music volume right in my car, they talked of Croatian sun, sand, beer and how Balkans isn’t too dissimilar to the word bollocks.

I eventually, achieved a level of sound where both conversation and music could be heard, so as Oasis entertained us with their song ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’, the two lasses spoke with eager anticipation of a cultured seven days ahead……. God only knows how we managed to fit the Gallagher brothers and their band into the car as well!

Rachel and Laura’s car chat was of sampling Croatia’s historic buildings, its thought-provoking museums, excellent cuisine and the free hotel wifi having a password of ‘tugnuts’.

When we got to the far side of Bramhope (around 5 miles from the airport), I dropped Oasis off due to the language in the car becoming a little too colourful. I apologised to Liam and Noel for my daughters cursing and continued onwards to LBA.

When we got to West Yorkshire’s premier airport,  I dropped the girls off with the parting advice of “Never accept a lift off anyone called Mulrich!” I then headed towards the exit barrier and was charged £3 for  the two minutes hospitality I received in the LBA drop off zone.

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Venturing home with the car two girls and a 1990’s rock band lighter, not to mention my pocket minus £3, I was in a melancholic mood. I put it down to tiredness, worrying my daughter would be ok on holiday and one of Oasis stealing my ‘Mr Men’ car air freshener.

The Leeds outer ring road was almost deserted as I travelled back to chez Strachan. Apart from an isolated car, the only animated things on view were a fox, a petrol station worker and a lone dog.

I’m assuming the dog was a stray and hadn’t been working on night shift with the fox at the petrol station. However, I rule nothing in and nothing out.

I got back into my modest three bedroomed abode at around 6am. Not wanting to wake my wife Karen, I only whistled (instead of singing) a medley of Oasis songs as I ventured back to bed.

As I donned my Dickensian nightshirt and headed towards my pit, I ceased whistling ‘Acquiesce’, whilst proceeding to climb onto the mattress to catch up on my thus far depleted slumber.

As my head was about to hit the pillow, I jumped as Karen turned around, opened her eyes and exclaimed “Gary, have you noticed that the word Balkans isn’t too dissimilar to the word bollocks?!”

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