We drove to Leeds for the gig last night.
In the front of the car, Martin Stephenson with a phone Satnav; battery very low indeed.
In the back, Chris Mordey, with a perky Android phone; he booted it up
in case of emergency.
Left turn in four hundred yards, said Martin's phone lady in an almost inaudible, husky voice redolent of Muttley. Left turn in four hundred yards, echoed Chris's lady in a brisk tone.
At the roundabout, take the first exit, said each phone in turn.
I drove more. The chaps started to compare satnavs.
Take the exit, said Chris's phone.
Keep driving for three point two miles, retorted Martin's.
Comparison started to drift into competition.
But had I missed a vital turning? Was I now heading three point two miles in the wrong direction? The street signs were no help. 'Leeds' said a sign pointing left. 'Leeds' said another, pointing right. 'Leeds', said a sign pointing to a roundabout, straight over.
Instructions were coming thick and fast from Chris's Satnav, which appeared to want nano-incremental control over our journey. Martin's, on the other hand, was much more laid back and at times almost inaudible under the almost bickering about the relative merits of the two Satnav ladies' vocal timbres.
At last we got there, much to the triumph of both Satnav owners.
The driver made a mental note to memorise a map, next time.