Distance no object for American cousins while we have a meltdown if bus route changes

Everyone seemed terribly chuffed, including the Americans I spoke to on the tram who told me they managed to get tickets for the whole family. Since, and I quote, “we were touring Italy, so we just thought we’d hop over to Edinburgh for a couple of days for the big event”. Must admit, my little brain mildly exploded at the mere notion of a quick pop across 1493 miles (I checked). In my book, that’s holiday travel, not a jaunt to see the Gallagher brothers. But then our North American cousins have a far more forgiving view of long haul travel than we do. Well, they’ve even been to the moon.

In the UK a drive of more than two hours is widely considered a 'trek', toilet stops must be planned, provisions laid in and service stations considered, says Susan Morrison

I’ve long thought it’s got something to do with the vast distances between, say, Sioux City and Amarillo. A tricky destination, I believe, since poor Tony Christie has been asking for directions since 1972. Clearly the man has never heard of Google Maps. Presumably the waiting Sweet Marie has lost all hope of ever seeing her wandering paramour and married someone who can make it up the aisle without pestering strangers to show him the way.

Australians are the same. At this time of the year virtually every venue in the city has a joyous band of relentlessly enthusiastic young Aussies doing sterling work as techies, bar workers and front of house staff. They drop by Scotland on the way to Finland, France and/or remote bits of Greece. It could just be the ones I meet, but it seems the minute a young Oz reaches passport age, lifts her or his head to the wind, they scent the entire world and treat it as their playground, and wonderfully adventurous they are, too. Distance means nothing.

Possibly because we live in a country that can fit in Iowa’s back pocket, we tend to view travel time in minutes rather than days. A drive of more than two hours is widely considered a “trek”. Toilet stops must be planned, provisions laid in and service stations considered. Naturally Tebay will feature, even if it’s the wrong side of the country. Who can resist the lure of an artisanal pork and port pie, coupled with the iron-clad certainty that the loos are clean and working?

We’ve been known to kick off when a diversion on the M8 takes us through Shotts, adding all of 20 minutes to the drive home. Mind you, the route through bleakest North Lanarkshire can be scary on a dark winter night. I once drove through a thick fog bank at Kirk o’ Shotts. I was convinced I’d come out the other side to emerge blinking into 1832.

Destinations reached after a journey of four hours or more and sit-downs must be had. Tea will be consumed, and, if two males are talking to each other, forensic post-travel examination of the roads taken, avoided, and why the M6 turned out to have been a better bet than the M1, although at one point a cheeky wee shortcut onto the A59 was considered. Our American friends viewed the whole of Europe as a daytrippers paradise. We have a meltdown if the bus route changes.