No laughing metter

An escape to the countryside sparked a new idea for the McDermott family's own home.

- PAT MCDERMOTT

A few years ago, on a driving trip through England, I caught sight of a picture perfect cottage. “Stop here, stop here!” I shouted. The MOTH (Man Of The House) dutifully slammed on the brakes and pulled over.

Our Budget rental car squealed to a halt on the edge of a deep ditch with a chorus of blaring horns from behind us on the winding country lane. We were a few kilometres short of the charming wee village of Grimley on the Severn, where we planned to spend the night.

The MOTH waved apologetically, and repeatedly, as a cranky cavalcade of lorries, school buses, cars and caravans grumbled by. Children on the bus stuck out their tongues on the way past.

“Very ‘un-British,” I sniffed. “But you'd get that from any load of 10-year-olds."

"The driver stuck his tongue out too,” said the MOTH.

"Ignore them all," I said loftily. “Just look at this gorgeous cottage!"