It was early afternoon and we'd just skirted Spokane, when it happened.

Course, that's my life all over. I've always been susceptible to these little melodramas. The previous night was a classic example of the ridiculous situations I find myself in. And it isn't only since I came to Seattle that this has been the rule, though I'll readily admit that living in a Crane household seems to amplify the likelihood of mishaps.

We'd been rolling for a few hours, and I was comfortable behind the wheel of the motor home. It had felt awkward and cumbersome at first, but I'd soon got used to the size of the thing. I was quite proud of how I was doing. Maggie was playing a demo cassette Michael had given her, of Indigo Haze's newest songs, and she was chattering about them with Niles (who kept using Italian words, which would quiet Maggie's yabbering for a minute or so before she got her nerve up again). I was thinking about trying to locate a gas station to fill the tank up, as we were getting low on fuel.

And that was when I glanced in the wing mirror and saw the flashing blue lights.

"Oh bloody hell," I observed.

"What?" Niles said immediately.

"Turn that thing off, we've got a situation."

Niles poked a finger at the stereo, succeeding only in increasing the volume of the music considerably. Panicked, he jabbed a few more times before the racket was finally killed.

"Sorry," he said.

"You'd better get ready to swap. We're being pulled over."

Maggie groaned, and to her everlasting credit, knew when to make herself scarce. She disappeared into the rear of the vehicle.

Niles squeaked. Giving his best impression of Mickey Mouse, he demanded, "Were you speeding?"

"Of course I wasn't speeding. This is a sodding interstate, and this bus doesn't go much over fifty!"

"Well why are we being pulled over?"

"I have no idea."

I manoeuvred the Winnebago over to the shoulder and drew to a stop. Niles was trying to fumble his seat belt undone. I unclipped my own, stood up and moved over to him. I had to bat his hands away and unclip his safety belt myself, then I yanked him up from the seat and all but bodily threw him behind the wheel.

By the time the police officer had walked to the driver's window, I was sitting in the passenger seat as though I'd lived in it all my life. Alas, it wasn't me I was worried about.

"Good afternoon, Officer!" Niles offered cheerily, then remembered that the window was closed. He made a show of winding it down, and then repeated his greeting, sounding even less natural than the first time.

"Afternoon sir," the policeman said. "Is this your vehicle?"

"Absolutely!" enthused Niles. Then he paused and frowned. "Well, actually it's my Dad's ... but I'm using it with his permission."

Surprise, surprise - the officer arched a doubtful eyebrow and asked, "May I see your documents?"

"Sure! Everything's in order here, Officer."

He reached into the glove compartment to retrieve his license and the vehicle's registration documents. By the time he'd picked them up from the floor, where they'd scattered when he dropped them, Niles finally thought to ask the obvious question.

"Umm, is there a problem? Do we have a light out, or something?"

"Since it's broad daylight, I couldn't say," the policeman returned sarcastically. What is it about traffic cops that seems to engender this superior and humourless brand of wit?

Niles laughed loud. Then he stopped, when he realised he was the only one doing so. The officer checked over the documents, frowned when he saw nothing on which he could challenge us, and handed them back.

"Thank you, sir. You're heading back to Seattle?"

"Yes we are."

"Well, do me a favour then. If you're not back before it gets dark, check your lights first."

Niles nodded, as though this was the most sage piece of advice he had ever been offered. "Will do, Officer." He all but saluted.

And that was it. The uniform was just going to walk off. I wasn't standing for that! (Nor even sitting for it, in the chair I'd clearly spent my whole life in ...)

"Excuse me Officer," I called, mentally congratulating myself for repressing the urge to call the man 'Orifice'. "Could you tell us what the problem is?"

The policeman turned back to the window. Niles began doing his 'No, it's fine, I'm really all right with this, there's no problem, but for god's sake the man was leaving!' face.

"No problem, ma'am," he replied, in his most patronisingly reassuring voice. "Just some routine enquiries after a theft in Spokane, this morning."

"Someone stole a Winnebago?"

Finally, the policeman's face cracked into what could have been an almost human expression of amusement. "Couple of kids robbed a drugstore, and their getaway driver got spooked and bolted before they came out. They hijacked a motor home with a tube of toothpaste and headed out of town. Better watch out for this one on 'America's Dumbest Criminals'!" he explained.

Right. And the cops were still looking for the stolen vehicle, which suggested to me that the incident might demand an entirely new show, 'America's Dumbest Cops'. The idea made me smile.

Niles laughed again, and said, "Stealing a Winnebago! Honestly, now I've heard it all!"

The policeman nodded, shot me a glance which asked if Niles was always like this, and suddenly I got protective. Just because I can take the mickey out of Niles' inability to deal with stressful situations, doesn't mean I'll stand by and let some stranger do the same.

"Well, good luck," I said, a little more frostily than I intended. The officer gestured absently at his forehead in that 'frustrated Marine' kind of way, and then turned to walk back to his car.

I gave it a couple of seconds, then peered into the passenger-side wing mirror, to see if the uniform was going to play nicely and bugger off on his way. Of course, he stopped by his car and, without getting in, looked back at the motor home.

"Well, looks like we're going to have to risk it," I sighed. "Swap, Niles."

"I can't." Niles' eyes were rooted on his own mirror.

"Why not?"

"Because that policeman is staring right at my face in the reflection."

"Oh don't be daft, he can't see you from all that distance away."

"Want a bet?"

"No I don't want a sodding bet, I want to go home. Swap."

Niles jerked in his seat, with the petulant little motion I've come to recognise as always preceding some diatribe. I preempted him. "Fine. Stay here. It's either stay here or swap."

"He'll be getting suspicous," Niles wailed.

"Oh, I think that ship sailed a while ago," I retorted.

Niles squeezed his lips together. You could all but hear the cogs creaking in his head. "Okay, here's what we'll do. My left foot is fine, so I can work the clutch. I just need some help with the accelerator. Can you do that?"

"What?"

"Can you push the accelerator for me?"

"This is not going to work," I warned.

"You have a better suggestion? He's still looking at me. He's looking at me and ... no, oh Daphne, he's looking away! He's looking into his car! We can swap now!"

I stood up and moved over, but Niles slumped back into the driver's seat after making perhaps an inch of progress out of it.

"He's looking back! Oh, damn him to anywhere particularly unpleasant, he's looking right at me again! He's got a thing. You know, one of those radio things that connects to the -"

"Please move your vehicle, sir!" came a tinny, megaphone voice.

"- loud speakers," Niles finished, gloomily. And then he said, "He's still looking at me. He's looking even harder, now."

"Oh for the ..." I muttered, and refrained from finishing the comment. I got down on my knees and crept under the dash, settling as well as I could to work the gas pedal. There I was, tangled around Niles' legs, cramped and contorted, with the smell of rubber in my nose and the underside of the wheel column hurting my head.

I don't think I even bothered to feel surprised.