As soon as we got on the M5 Spud announced that he needed to take a leak and asked Flinty if Sharon had a khazi.

'There's a thunderbox down the back end,' Flinty told him, 'but its emergency use only. I don't want to have to empty the bloody thing. There's a service area in five miles, I've just seen a sign.'

We agreed to stop for a loo break and maybe stock up on some provisions. My tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches had been eaten on the way to Gloucester and the chocolate bars had taken a severe hammering.

We all piled out of the van and rushed into the main building to make use of the facilities. When I came out the other two were already in the minimart shovelling pasties and crisps into a basket. When I joined them I noticed a six-pack of Special Brew and a bottle of Johnny Walker hiding at the bottom.

'We're both a bit short of the readies,' Flint said apologetically. 'Could you ...'

I dug out my wallet and handed him thirty quid with a sigh.

'If it comes to more than that you'll have to put something back,' I warned. 'I'm going back to the van to say goodnight to my kids.'

I left them arguing about what to spend my thirty quid on.

***

I stood outside Sharon and called Lynn on my mobile, telling her that everything was fine and we were well on the way to Glasgow. No, we weren't in a pub, we were at a service station on the motorway. She handed the phone to my girls and I heard their breathless voices.

'Daddy, when are you coming home?'
'How many sleeps, Daddy?'
'Only two sleeps sweethearts,' I explained. 'I'm just calling to say nighty-night.'
'Daddy, sing us the spider song.'
'Yes! Please, Daddy, sing us the spider song!'

I couldn't refuse them so I started singing our own version of Sippin' Cider through a Straw.

'The prettiest girls ...I ever saw,
were sucking spiders ... through a straw.
So cheek to cheek ... and jaw to jaw,
we all sucked spiders ... through a straw.
Now two small girls ... they call me Pa,
and they suck spiders ... through a straw.'

Their giggles were suddenly drowned out by a loud chorus behind me.

'Those two small girls ... they call him Pa,
And they suck spiders ... through a straw.'

I turned to see Flinty and Spud, arms wrapped around each other, serenading me.

'Got to go now munchkins. Time for bed,' I said into the phone and disconnected.

'Don't you two say a word!' I said menacingly.

***

Back on the motorway, Flinty pushed Sharon up to a frighteningly unstable 60 mph. I checked my watch. It was eight-thirty.

'I think we can kiss goodbye to getting to the Lake District tonight,' I said. 'At this rate, we won't get to Manchester until after eleven.'

'Who's stopping at eleven?' Flinty seemed surprised. 'I'm usually thinking of going out for a night on the town around eleven. We'll push on till about two and then have a bit of supper before bedtime.'

'Bloody hell, Flinty,' I objected, 'we're not teenagers any more!'

'Don't worry granddad. You can always hop into the back and get your head down. Spud can keep me company.'

'I'll do that alright, Flinty,' Spud agreed.

There was no way I could argue with that, so instead, I just asked Flinty to tell us more about his time in the wilds of west Wales.

***

'Well, let's see,' Flinty began. 'After I got the push from KFC for eating all the nuggets, I hung around Swansea for a year or two. I did a bit of bar work, but that didn't work out. I was better at drinking it than selling it. Then I went on the fruit picking circuit for a few years.'

For the next three hours, Flinty entertained us with his escapades travelling around Britain doing various odd jobs.

He'd picked hops in Kent, strawberries in Lincolnshire, cherries in Hertfordshire and picked up Jobseeker's Allowance whenever he could. Then he'd landed what he described as a 'plum job' as a car park attendant in Bristol. He'd stuck at that for several years. Nothing to do but sit in his booth with his portable telly watching would-be property tycoons bashing walls down on Homes Under The Hammer. It was one of those city-centre car parks used mainly by office workers so it didn't get busy until 5 p.m. when they all went home. Then he had to spend an hour taking the payments, but the rest of the time was a doddle.

'Sounds like the perfect job for you Flinty,' I said, 'why did you leave?'

'My boss found out about the profit-sharing scheme I'd started. I think he was annoyed he wasn't getting a cut. Gave me the boot.'

'That's the problem with this feckin' country,' Spud sympathised. 'No room for free enterprise.'

'Couldn't agree more,' Flinty agreed. 'You just can't get ahead of the game. Anyway, I'd bought Sharon by then so I went and camped out on the seafront at Weston. I'd been doing a bit of dealing with regular customers at my car park and I had some weed and a big bag of mollies left over. I found myself a nice little earner selling stuff to the kids in the amusement arcades. Then I made a big mistake. I tried selling in a couple of pubs and I must have muscled in on someone else's patch. A couple of goons gave me a warning so that's when I decided it was time to leave. Thought I'd put a bit of distance between them and me and Jockland seemed like a good idea. And that's when I remembered the Trainspotters Club.'

***

We must have had a following wind because by the time Flinty had finished we'd passed the turn-off for Manchester and the signs were indicating Preston ahead.

'Hey! What's the time?' Flinty asked suddenly.

'11:45,' I told him.

'We need to pull over for half an hour,' he announced and started slowing down to stop on the hard shoulder.

'You can't stop here, Flinty,' I pointed out, 'We could get rear-ended by a juggernaut.'

'He's right,' Spud said, 'and the bizzies'll take an interest if they see us parked up.'

Flinty relented and drove on to the next exit. We turned off, went around the roundabout at the top and stopped on the verge of the slip road leading back onto the motorway. I'd assumed Flinty needed a leak, but he told us to stay in the front while he did a bit of sorting out. Then he dived into the back of the van, switched on a couple of electric lights, and started throwing duvets and dirty clothes into every available space. Most of it was stuffed into a compartment at the back, which I realized was the toilet. The duvets were shoved into the pigeon loft above the driving cab.

'Spare bedroom,' Flinty explained when he saw us watching him.

Quite soon Sharon's interior was transformed. The flat surface had converted into a dinette. A small kitchen with a sink and fridge was revealed. It almost resembled a real motorhome.

'Please come in,' Flinty invited us to join him using his best maitre d' impression.

We hopped over the seatback and sat at the table as Flinty retrieved a plate from a cupboard and wiped it with the arm of his parka. Then he produced a packet of Mr Kipling's Cherry Bakewells and some miniature candles. Three assorted glasses followed and were filled with Johnny Walker's Red Label. He carefully placed three of the cakes on the plate and stuck candles in them.

'What time is it now?' he inquired.

'Ten past midnight.'

Flinty picked up his glass and we followed suit.

'Well ... cheers,' he said. 'Where are my prezzies?'