I love driving. Honestly, there’s something about the open road that just feels right. The freedom to set your own schedule, the ability to stop when you want, and the joy of blasting my carefully curated soundtrack (which is basically 90% video game and movie scores) with the windows down — it’s hard to beat. Plus, there’s no one judging me when I’m absolutely butchering the high notes from The Greatest Showman soundtrack.
Travelling by car just makes sense, especially when you’ve got a family in tow. Flying with a toddler? No thanks. Trains? Sounds peaceful until you realise your seat is next to someone who’s eating an egg sandwich with the intensity of a competitive eater. And buses? Let’s just say my last experience involved questionable smells and someone clipping their toenails two rows behind me. No, the car is the way forward.
Plus, being coeliac adds another layer of complexity to travelling. Finding gluten-free food on the road can be a bit of a gamble — the last thing I want is to be stuck on a five-hour train ride with nothing but a sad packet of crisps because the “gluten-free” option turned out to be a misunderstanding involving barley malt. When I’m driving, I’ve got control. I can pack a stash of safe snacks, map out gluten-free-friendly stops, and worst-case scenario, there’s always a petrol station where I can stock up on emergency Haribo (don’t judge).
And let’s be honest, when you’ve got a three-year-old in the back seat, being able to stop whenever you want is essential. Ollie’s snack demands operate on a very strict timeline, and once he decides he’s hungry, you’ve got approximately 30 seconds to resolve the situation before a full-scale meltdown ensues. Being able to say, “Hang on, mate, we’ll pull over soon,” is the kind of parenting power move you just don’t get with public transport.
But beyond the practical stuff, road trips are just… fun. Some of my favourite memories are from car journeys with Helen and Ollie — laughing over terrible car karaoke, arguing about whether Jaffa Cakes are biscuits or cakes (they’re cakes, don’t start), and pointing out random sheep and cows in fields. There’s a weird kind of peace in the hum of the road and the occasional “Are we there yet?” from the back seat. It’s like forced family bonding — but in a good way.
Sure, the idea of sitting back on a train and letting someone else do the work sounds nice in theory — but the reality is you’d be sharing a table with a guy who’s loudly explaining crypto to someone who clearly stopped listening 20 minutes ago. Driving gives me freedom, control, and an excuse to avoid other people’s weird habits. So yeah, if it’s between a cramped airline seat and a road trip with my family, I’ll take the car keys every time.
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