— How are you on U Turns?

— Why?

— This map is squeaking … Errr, I can't get it straight, and the light's not right, coming off it in a glare…

— Squeaking? Maps can't squeak. It must be something under the bonnet … you've got a bee in your bonnet, if you ask me … about that map. Where are we now?

— We're sort of … lost. Yes, that's the word. Ha ha ha.

— Lost? But surely not. You and I never get lost. That map knows exactly where it's going, it's only us that are parting company with it. So you may laugh. But we won't be on time if we're lost.

— She'll hang on. She's been dying long enough…

— Exactly, she's been dying for long enough and we're tempting fate to be any later than we need be … if you want to see her before she finally pops her clogs.

— That's a horrible expression. We can only do our best … and the doctors will keep her switched on till we get there.

— Well, where are we? Do you realise there are more accidents caused by people getting lost than anything else. More than by mobile phones, heart attacks, brake failure, you name it. Lost is bad news. Lost gets you lots closer to the big E than any other state of human fallibility.

— I can hardly see the map now.

— Days are getting shorter these days.

— Yes …… I think you should turn left at the next traffic lights.

— That'll take us straight towards Norwood. We want Sydenham first to get to the Hospital. Don't be daft.

— Well, there's no point in going straight ahead. That'll bring us to Selhurst - & there's the football about to finish. We could be gridlocked for hours.

— OK, left it is – Blimey! The tracking's getting worse on this car … it seems to jolt over every kerb it can find!

— Go on, don't blame your driving. Blame the car. That's you all over.

— Well, if I'd been driving the day your mother … well, instead of letting her drive when her eyes had been on the blink … she wouldn't be in intensive care today. I expect she wasn't only lost but playing blind man's buff with the other traffic … sorry, I know it's hard on you. It’s not a joke.

— I reckon you've got to go back the way we've come.

— Is that what the map says?

— Yes, it's the only way.

— The only way?

— Do a U Turn.

— I can't do a bloody U Turn here. I'd get crucified.

— It's not one way, is it?

— Everything is one way – in my book. Nobody gets a return ticket.

— What are you talking about?

— Nothing. Oh, bugger, I could have turned there. The trouble is – as soon as you see an opening then you're past it before you can make the snap judgement to use it. And there is that bleeder tailgating me – blinding me in the mirror. This is quickly turning into a nightmare. I'd rather have your mother backseat driving than all this squinting you do at the map. It sounds as if you're talking to the map rather than to me. Maps can't hear you know.

— Well, you often talk to the car. And to other drivers. Sometimes I think you actually become the car or something. Anyway, the map's too old. It's out of date. Wrinkled. The creases are confusing me as which roads are roads and which are wrinkles. This road we're on is not even on it, I don't think.

— Strange. There's no traffic now. It feels as if we're out of town. No headlights … nothing behind me. Nothing in front. I'll go on to high beam.

— High beam?

— Might as well. Must be more lost than ever.

— Road seems darker now.

— Yup Yup

— Too dark to see.

— What's that in the road?

— STOP !

— Can't. Too late. It looks like an old woman. We've run over… Oh my God!

— Oh!

— End of the road. Lost. Life support system on the blink. Engine dead. Tyres flat. Nobody to see a poor old lady like me die. No map of where I'm going off to – only silence, save for a faint hissing.

— It was all talk before. It's now all real. God's on high beam. And I don't know who's voice this is any more.

— A play where nobody knows who’s taking which part!

—  Not a joke.  Not a time to laugh.  Not a time to corpse each other.

— Heaven is in italics.