The Mystery Tour
We all boarded the bus in the early morning sunshine: mums, dads, children and grandparents. The teenagers clambered to get upstairs first - freedom away from the prying eyes of their elders. The excitement was palpable, “Where do you think we will be going?” “I reckon the seaside,” said one mother, “It’s such a glorious day and the temperature is rising.” “Oh, I hope not,” exclaimed an older grandmother whose dry wrinkles reminded me of the ripples on the beach long after the tide had ebbed. “All that sand gets everywhere.” It seemed that although the bus was now full not everyone was embracing the concept of a mystery tour. “I’m only here because you thought it would be good if the whole family came along.” “That’s right,” replied the dad with the short-sleeved shirt, arms bristling with tattoos, “Stop your moanin’. It’ll be great for the kids. It’s not all about you, you know.” The grandmother cast a disapproving glance and sat down, muttering, “I just like to k...