I remember Grandad teaching me to read a map. Sat in the front seat of his car, we would embark on an adventure to Solihull to pick up Nan after work. Armed with a well-thumbed copy of the A-Z he would say "Right o Master, where are we off to" with all of the confidence a six year old can muster, I would trace my finger over the page. Turn-by turn directions, "left at the end Grand". Thinking the navigation was all down to me and not that Grand could do it in his sleep having driven this route 1000s of times; regardless, my proud smile got us to the roundabout, "you need to turn left here" I would say, trying to catch him out. "I think its right" and we would both giggle and turn right, slowing as we crossed over the M42 to check the traffic, just in case we needed to provide an update to someone later that day. Once we had safely arrived in Solihull, it was a celebratory humbug from the glovebox, "Dont tell Nan. Right how about we get a cuppa and a slice of cake".