oh my...

...bloated pancreas.

Dear. God.

Here I am somewhere south of Bloemfontein, sitting in the back of the car...while my parents insist on listening to a "story tape." Usually I wouldn't be completely adverse to this kind of familial travelling repertoire - it's not all ham and pickles and rock 'n roll like on Contiki - but usually a "story tape" is fine if you're sitting half asleep, drooling up against a window dreaming of red coats and Madam Tussauds.

Except, no. See it's not Richard Attenborough's "Volcanoes Of The 21st Century" or "Oliver Twist." They're listening to some fucking Jilly Cooper sex story. I could laugh, I could cry - but either way, the 5 year old in me doesn't really want to pretend she's listening to: He rolled over...and lit a cigarette while she commented on his male copulation method...

("Copulation?" That's a word I use for crazy monkey animal sex!)

...Let's drink more vodka and then mate.....

You've got to be kidding me. Love triangles in the car. For another 10 hours.

...he undid her bra.. Oh dear God no...please don't undo her bra please don't undo her bra...SPEED TRAP, HOW'S THIS SUNSET OH LOOK A WINDMILL ARE WE IN THE KAROO ALREADY?...then he slowly lifted his hand towards her knee high tights...

It really cannot get more contrived than this. And they're absolutely riveted. My parents are LOVING this. Are all ears and giggles.

......she showered outside while he got dressed and prepared himself for a night of passion just like that night in Nantucket in '99...

Should I puke?

It's fucking silent in this car otherwise. And all I can say is thank heavens for Steve Jobs and his iPod invention, and sunglasses at night.