Renewing our marriage vows on the A30

Good news! The Grit and Dig marriage has survived the five hour drive to Cornwall with triplets strapped into the back of the Kidmobile! And not only that! It is strengthened and bettered than it has ever been! Or at least since 7.55 this morning when we had a big argument about an egg.

And why? Why? Because Grit is smart. And clever.

First she has avoided the marital bust-up in the middle of the Cotswolds, which goes 'this is all your fault, how do you get out of this place when there are no signs, not anywhere, I cannot read the map, you are not listening to me, stop the car, I am getting out, no-one knows where we are, now look. We are doomed to drive round hills looking for the M5 forever until we are forced to eat each other to survive and that is all your fault as well'.

Well we avoided that scenario thanks to smart Grit. She remembered to bring the Satnav. Even after she fed everyone eggs for breakfast and planted out cabbages at 5.30 this morning because hey, she can't sleep for fear over what we are about to do, and she may as well plant vegetables because it is dawn and she has to do it anyway, otherwise Tiger will not get in the car at 9am. And OK, just as Dig is turning the ignition key in the car at 9.04, he only has to say once 'Have you got the Satnav?' before Grit says 'Ooops' and hops out the car sharpish to go and unlock the house to retrieve it.

And the second reason why Grit and Dig are still married is that to avoid five hours of triplets punching each other she is drugging them. The smart Grit managed to throw Squirrel, Tiger and Shark in the library yesterday morning where they stocked up on 20 hours of listening pleasure, including The Borrowers, The Hobbit, Egyptian Myths and Legends, The Lottie Project and Fire, Bed and Bone, which is the story of the Peasant's Revolt in medieval England of 1381 told through the eyes of a talking dog. Seriously.

Well the drive is going fine, mostly, with Satnav lady saying Turn right and Turn left and Homily saying Don't put me down the hole, and Grit has just suggested that we stop the journey for a while in Devon to look at the Finch Foundry, when Dig starts screaming. Man screaming, like AAARRRGGH! Then, with a cornering technique worthy of Silverstone racing track, he suddenly pulls the Kidmobile off the A30 and plunges us into a D-road that has cart track leading to nowhere and a rusted five-bar gate at the end, and while he is doing that, he is shouting 'I don't know where I am going! Only you can help me now!'

When he has calmed down and mopped his brow and I say I have forgotten the aspirin, he says that he can no longer listen to Homily down the hole because it is driving him mad. And I tell him that he is lucky. Because if Squirrel had got her way yesterday in the CD library section, he would now be listening to four hours worth of a fairy who has lost her handbag and needs help from Kirsty and Rachel because it is the last day of the holidays and time is running out.

But really, I am pleased, and might love Dig more than ever. Because did you hear that? He said Only you can help me now. You see, in the midst of his despair, he calls upon his helpmate. Possibly because at that moment I am a better gamble than the RAC. But no matter. Our marriage is strengthened.

One more tender moment like that and I could be in honeymoon mode.