These days HR means you’ve said something you should not have.  In the ‘60s HR meant Holiday Route and it helped guide you (in pre-Sat Nav days) to your holiday destination (along with the rest of the motoring world).

The alternative was to have a set of maps bigger than the interior of the car.

HR meant sand, sea, serial traffic jams.  But, upon seeing those yellow and black signs en route to your holiday, you could smell the brine of the sea – either that or the leftover salmon paste sandwiches you’d eaten before you were the other side of the South Circular.

And all this after being woken up at 3.00 am (“to beat the rush”). 

The slow procession of Cortinas, Populars and Zodiacs made their way for the annual trip to the seaside.  You, dear reader, sat in the back seat with your I-Spy on the Road book; packet of Joyrides and trying hard to master the rules of pub cricket and wondering why we had to, yet again, go somewhere which began with a “B” and not do a road trip through Yugoslavia?

When you arrived you wondered if you’d see the family you met last year from Scarborough?  Of course not, they were halfway to Belgrade!