I'll always remember car trips with my father - sitting in the passenger seat, singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs, having long conversations about nothing in particular.
Our car trips were fortnightly events. On the Friday night, or sometimes the Saturday morning, he'd pick me up and drive me to his place, and then, on the Sunday evening, he'd drive me home again - always in time for dinner at six o'clock, never later, or Mum would get angry.
Back when I lived in Geelong, the trips would each last about an hour. I loved going over the Westgate Bridge - "The Big Bridge", as I called it. We used to stop into service stations whenever Dad needed petrol, and buy icy-poles. Dad always finished his quickly, before he started driving again, but I was slow - I liked to savour the taste of my Calippo, Magnum, Split, or whichever other icy-pole had caught my eye that day.
After I moved to Melbourne, the journeys between houses weren't as long anymore. We didn't go to the service station on the way, so it almost felt like a tradition was lost. But, I was growing older, and we found other things to do to pass the time - like playing a game where you have to guess the song name and artist before the song reaches the chorus.
Years passed, and the car trips were as fun as ever. We had "our songs", which always seemed to come on the radio when we were driving. If one of my younger sisters was in the car, we'd play the number game, which consisted of shouting out, "I see a si-ix!" whenever one of us saw the number six, be it on a number plate...