With the Bad.

Woo.

I'm freezing, starving, and exhausted. And vaguely irritated, due to all three and Anne's bossiness and Blair's Blair-ness.

See, Anne doesn't trust technology. So although she gets me to locate us frequently on the handy Nuvi (GPS), she just as frequently doubts it and ignores its directions. It doesn't help that the Nuvi is often confusing--because the UK itself is confusing, with tiny roads, stunted cars, a definitive lack of traffic lights and a surplus of tiny traffic circles to replace them.

She also decided that instead of eating in Bath, where we just came from, we should drive allllll the way back to Avebury instead. Which proves that she doesn't know teens too well.

And of course, she's way too hot because we were walking around quite a bit and so she needs the freezing cold air turned on full blast.

So here Blair and I sit, bitchy and hungry, with Blair occasionally throwing out doubtful comments about the road/direction we're going in, making we want to throttle (or maybe eat) her, since it's hard enough to get Anne to follow directions spawned by the Nuvi, even if they've already been cross-referenced to the physical map (which she insists on, usually).

Pop goes the Kava Kava!

Oh, and Blair talked me into buying a PVC bustier that fits like a glove, for the low, low price of £40.

Bitch.

--

...Aaaaand all the tables at the pub we drove all this way for are completely booked, since it's Friday night and we didn't call ahead.

On to the next village.

Whee.

Oh, well.

Lah.