the year i ran away for xmas

It was 1987. I was due to spend christmas up north, for the first time. I don't know why this was the plan. Things were so difficult that festive would not have been the right word to use. And then one afternoon, maybe three days before Christmas day, something inside me snapped. Some kind of fear. I walked out to the car, the Red Renault, got in, and drove down the A1 to London, parked at Rayners Lane. George and Dorothy weren't expecting me but didn't act as though they were surprised. They booked me a plane ticket and I went to Germany. I felt so guilty. What I had done seemed evil and cowardly. It's only later that I realised it was kind of sensible. When you're at the end of your tether, it's a good idea to absent yourself from your tether, go awol, look for a safe port of call.