Watching repeats of the Antiques Roadshow?
Looking at paint drying?
Reading painfully unfunny blogs?

No. Listening to someone else's holiday stories must be the most boring thing ever. Most people would be happy to get a ride home from the airport and would be grateful. Some people have a funny way of showing it.

My parents had only been in the car for two minutes before I was hearing about who had won the scrabble tournament and which 7 letter word had been put on the triple word score. I would have loved it there because there were two cats in and around the hotel - one of which, get this, had a very short neck - so they referred to it as Cat Chris, after my friend with no neck.

"My finger is better - look!" my dad said holding up his previously broken digit. "But my leg is still red and raw." he said sticking his foot on the dashboard. They even managed to make the fact that they saw two midgets un-interesting. "And your father was always pestering me for sex." Argh, the mental image. I want to reach into my brain and claw out my minds eye.

Surely no one would hold a grudge if I ploughed the car into the central reservation? No I must hold fire. There are worse things than hearing stories.

"We have some excellent photos to show you."
Screeeeeeeech! Crasssshhhhh!