See, I remember continually asking my mum *chokes on own vomit* "Are we there yet, are we there yet?" During long interminable train journeys only to be clumped around the ear each time which usually led to mild concussion and only once to cognitive and vestibular fallout. As a consequence, as I am sure Mr The Gut will confirm, I never pester him with such communications. As I have regularly said to him "You can't hurry quality." Not that, you know, I'm not dying inside but, well, one doesn't want to show it does one.