189. On the road (2/3)

'There are several accidents on your route causing a 53-minute-delay. You are still on the fastest route.'

I press 'mute' on the GPS. Google Maps obviously hasn't got a clue about the situation in Paris, France. Or have they? Accidents and delays seem to be with us on this journey and I feel as if I pushed a domino back there when I was reversing on the school carpark and I am wondering where the last one is. There is nothing left to eat in my picnic basket. We cannot stop, we cannot come off this hellish road.

My son is not tired anymore. He has had such a good sleep. I am ready to open the vehicle door, climb on top of the roof of my car and shout at everyone to get going. I decide it is time to use my newly acquired skills and to do a quick on the spot mindful breathing meditation to relieve stress. I inhale deeply. Hold it in. And close my eyes.

'MUM!!!' My son is yelling in my ear. I jump out of my skin.

'Mum! Open your eyes! What are you doing? You nearly crashed into the car in front!'

My turn to be cool as a cucumber. (This mindful breathing is excellent.)

'Stop fretting! It's only an illusion. In reality we are motionless. It's the cars in the lane next to us that are moving.' 

I am not entirely certain of this but my feet are on the breaks and the car is in neutral. He is almost convinced, I see him turn his head and check the lane next to us. We continue our slow progress. Making comments about the buildings, the cars, what we will eat when we get out of this. Then, out of the blue and in the same chit-chat tone, he says:

'You know, next year I get to play at the highest level for my year group.'

I jump on the breaks. This time it is the car behind that nearly crashes into us. For real. The driver jumps on his breaks - and it is not as we are going very fast anyway - but gets annoyed and jumps on his horn too. He keeps his hands there for a very long second. This being Paris everyone joins in. My son looks at me horrified! I have triggered a collective outburst of road rage. 

' ... ' I am speechless. 

'It's good, mum! It's good news ... And it's just what I want really.'

'Good ...'

'I'll get to play all over the country against many other clubs.'

'Good ... But ... Are you telling me that we have set off on this never-ending trip from hell so you can go and do try-outs when you don't even need to do try-outs anymore?'

I am calm so this brief mindfulness exercice must have worked. 

'No, it's still good to go to other clubs. The big ones with good teams.'

I decide to concentrate on the road as the conversation is getting technical. I know for a fact that every time he tries to explain to me the different leagues and levels and goodness knows what else, he gets impatient if I don't follow. But he is more patient this time and as we painfully drive on and reach our exit he tells me that it is still good to do try-outs and answers all my questions. I think this is good to be stuck in the car with my son. We can talk, he cannot storm off in a sulk nor can I. 

'Take the exit.' 

The GPS has been unmuted and is making the most of it. I gladly take the exit and we are now driving along a green leafy suburban area. There are parks line with trees and roundabout where big palms and tall grass tower over patches of red and orange flowers. The market square is animated with people doing their shopping or just crossing the road to get to the park beyond. We can see a large pond behind the park gates with a path running round it. After hours of grey concrete and dark dirty tunnels this is wonderful. I even spot a stall marked 'African roasted chicken' and I feel really hungry all of a sudden.

'You have arrived at your destination.' Mrs Robot-Voice tells us. We would not know ourselves. All this! But no stadium, no big sign showing us the way to the big club of my son's dreams. Surely if there was a rugby pitch we would see it. 

'THERE IS NO STADIUM YOU ***********' I yell into the phone. My son looks at me, frowning slightly. Then he gets out of the car and stretches his legs. I get out too and we are off in search of a rugby pitch.