A Thermos Flask Borrowed off Nanna

It’s 1982. The car journey from Leicester to Dad’s mate’s caravan in Cornwall takes roughly 400 years. We go every year. My younger brother is exploring the moist contents of his nostrils, and on the other side of me the older one is reading a well illustrated book about insects.
At the services we stare at a poster for iced coke while a cup of tea, that tastes more of plastic cup than tea, is passed around. A big lorry rumbles past and the thermos falls off the dashboard and smashes.
It proves to be the highlight of the holiday.