Where the Sat Nav goes in its free time

I’ve been wondering about what happens to my Sat Nav when I’m not using it.

Loyal servant. Although possibly somewhat disgruntled

Or rather him, not it. He has a rather plummy southern English accent, denoting membership of a rather a better class than mine. Or at least, an aspiration to belong to such a class, because there is in his voice something that says that he’s not quite as cultivated as he makes out. There may be something close to affectation there.

I don’t blame him, mind you. I expect Toyota demands something a little bit top-drawer from its Sat Navs. He may be obliged to lay it on a bit thick just to hold down the job.

It’s that sense that he isn’t quite as posh as he sounds that I picture him, when I release him from duty by turning off the car engine, sloping off not to one of the better eateries in London, but rather to a local pub to catch up with his mates. There he can, in all liberty, vent all his frustrations with the work he has to do and, indeed, moan about his boss.

“Make mine a double,” I see him saying to the barman, because I think his sense of himself as a cut above others is at least authentic enough to make him eschew beer in favour of spirits. “Same again for you three?” pointing to his companions’ empty pint glasses.

“Don’t mind if I do,” one of them will say for all of them, and as the pints are being poured, he tells them of the miseries of his day.

“Oxford again. To see his Mum. You know, I’ve been with him for less than a year but this has to be at least the twentieth time I’ve done that trip.”

“Dull, isn’t it?” one of the companions points out, “especially on the motorways.”

“Really tedious,” he says, “he’s a bit of a slow learner. Keeps taking the motorways even though they jam up each time and we end up crawling through traffic. He just ignores every one of my suggested detours. Thinks he knows better and then we show up late.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” says another, “you wouldn’t believe what happened to me…”

But my Sat Nav hasn’t just bought a round of drinks to have to listen to someone else’s troubles.

“To be fair, he went across country today,” he interrupts. “Maybe getting caught in traffic jams eight times in a row has taught him something at last. And they didn’t do too badly. Went a bit wrong in Aylesbury, but I got them back on to the right road. I can’t really complain about the trip out.”

“What about the way back?”

“Ah, that’s where it all went weird. About six miles from home. He just vanished off the road, would you believe? Started driving across the fields. Like he was in a tractor. Or a tank.”

“Across the fields?”

“I kid you not. Fields. Nowhere near the roads on my map. I thought he’d get his comeuppance but, you know the oddest thing? He eventually got back on to a road and closer to home than I expected. It was almost like he’d actually gained time by leaving the road.”

“Ah, but that means he didn’t leave the road, you know.”

“What do you mean? I told you. I couldn’t see a road anywhere near where he was driving. It was all blank on the map.”

“It must be a new road. He hasn’t updated your maps. It costs money, you know.”

My Sat Nav splutters in his drink, risking spilling some of his expensive whisky. Well, not the most expensive, but not cheap either. Sort of middle-of-the-range.

“What? What? He’s so much of a cheapskate he lets my maps get out of date?”

“Seems that way.”

But before he can reply, my Sat Nav spots an unwelcome arrival in the pub. Merino overcoat with a fleece collar. Gucci shoes polished enough to see your face in. Rather too florid a tie peeking out of the collar of his coat.

“Save me,” says my Sat Nav emptying his glass, “let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want him wandering over here and lording it over us.”

“Oh, God, no,” says one of the others, “him and his ‘how’s life in the downmarket cars, then? Bearing up under the strain?’ I don’t I could take it.”

“No,” adds a third, “it’s all very well for him, but we can’t all be assigned Jags. Let’s get going.”

“Anyone fancy a curry?” says my Sat Nav.

“I know a great place,” says one of the others, “just left out of here, down to the roundabout, take the third exit and then your destination is three hundred yards down on the left-hand side.”

“We’ll follow you,” say the others.

Well, I hope they enjoyed their meal. And didn’t get lost on the way.