Logic There is Not

Emma, Tim and Piglet Hugh all moved house on Tuesday. I went to help them move in.

Unsure of my route I faithfully heeded the dulcet tones of the "Lady on the dashboard"

She kindly led me through leafy lanes and idyllic Cotswold villages to Dobbins Lane.

When I came to leave, the rain was truly torrential as I programmed in my home code.

I safely reached Bicester and following instructions to "take the third exit" could not believe it when I found myself on the M40 behind mountainous lorries, thundering along leaving sheets of spray in their wake. Not content she then led me on to the M42 and M5

With vision impaired, the voyage home, a full ten miles longer than the outward trip, was a masterly combination of laying water, spray, mini floods and a fogged windscreen.

How did an infallible calculator do this to me? Let no one try to tell me it was not a malicious act, comparable to the printer running out of ink at a vital moment, or the photocopier jamming as you drum your fingers with urgency.

Bring out the old reliable map.