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A long motorway journey with children in the backseat of the car is, by most people’s definition, about the closest you can get to hell on earth. The train, at the very least, offers a restaurant car with essentially unlimited supplies of cold beer by way of escape from pint-sized hooligans; your own set of wheels is, at very best, home to a dwindling reserve of warm lime cordial – and perhaps valium, if you’re lucky.