135 THE GREAT EUROPEAN PETOL PUZZLE...

I'm worried that Abbie will develop multiple personality disorders during our upcoming European road trip, as she must respond to six different names for the same thing: motion potion. Let me explain.

In England, we start with 'petrol' – a perfectly civilized name that sounds like something posh people would sip at a tea party. "More petrol, dear chap? Why yes, I'd love some right after these scones".

Crossing into Belgium was our first identity crisis. Suddenly, we're dealing with 'essence' in French-speaking areas and 'benzine' in Flemish parts. I'm worried the car will start to think it is a fancy perfume or something. "Would madame like the 95 octane essence today? It has subtle notes of crude oil with a refined mineral finish."

Over in Germany, they kept 'benzin' but pronounce it like they were angry at it: "BENT-zeen!" Everything sounds more serious in German. The filling station attendant could be reciting love poetry, but it would sound like Gordon Ramsay barking at a hapless sous chef.

Switzerland, being Switzerland, can't decide on just one name. Like everything else in this pristine country, they borrowed from their neighbours: 'essence,' 'Benzin,' and even 'benzina' - because why settle for two names when you can have three?

At this point, the car will be experiencing an existential crisis.

'Benzina' rolls off the tongue like a romantic symphony in Italy. Even asking for a fill-up sounds like you're ordering a fine wine. "Ah, la benzina premium, per favore!" The attendant's hand gestures alone will be worth the price of admission.

Finally, France will welcome us with 'essence' again, but this time with such Gallic flair that my car will start wearing a beret and refusing to start until it has finished its morning croissant.

By the end of the trip, the vehicle will be thoroughly confused. It will sit on my driveway, demanding to be filled with fuel in all names before it starts. I will have created a multilingual monster; I wouldn't be surprised if it's planning to learn Spanish next - to spite me.

At least one thing will remain constant throughout our journey: the universal language of big oil putting their hands deep into our pockets and emptying our wallets. That, my friends, needs no translation.