Well now. You’ve been out gallivanting with the support worker, all very exciting, all very “ooh look at me, in a moving vehicle, practically a stuntwoman,” and then—WHAM—carsick. Not the glamorous, windswept outing you’d pictured. More… green. Wobbly. Less of a Bond girl, more of a gone girl.
So here’s the plan. First, slippers on. Not fancy ones, mind you—slippers that look like they’ve survived several wars. The floppier the better. Then you position yourself on the sofa in what I call “the nest.” Blanket? Yes. Cushion fortress? Absolutely. Dog Mylo in attendance? Mandatory.
Snack? We’re keeping it gentle. No pickled onions, thank you very much. A nice plain biscuit. Perhaps two, if you’re feeling daring. And a mug of something hot that makes you sigh audibly when you drink it.
Entertainment is simple: nothing spinny, nothing zoomy. We are talking Bluey, Pooh Bear, or a comforting Captain Scarlet rerun—because if anyone can keep you steady after carsickness, it’s a man in an indestructible suit.
And then—best bit—you simply allow yourself to do nothing. Marvel at the sheer genius of your body for saying, “You know what? I’m tired of zooming about. Nest time, please.” Cosy nights in: the true glamour. Such fun.
