Listening to the radio on the way to work, my ears pricked up. It was an item about an airline which has introduced nannies on board flights to relieve parents of their offspring.

The trained nannies entertain children, allowing their parents to sit back, relax and enjoy the journey.

Having just returned from a fractious family trip I thought this a great idea.

Not that we had jetted off on a long-haul flight to foreign shores. We had simply driven to Suffolk for a short break with my husband's family.

But from setting off, the children were as lively as a couple of springbok.

Despite being strapped firmly to their booster seats in the back of car, they somehow managed to throw themselves around like Seventies punk fans.

And, belted up in the front, we were powerless to do anything but bellow at them. That's the worst thing about car journeys with children - when squabbles erupt, you can't physically intervene. So you end up putting up with it until your blood pressure reaches boiling point and you blow up like Vesuvius.

I remember reading a newspaper report about a father who had installed a black cab-like perspex screen in his saloon car so he could block out the racket on the school run.

Travel with children - whether train, plane or car - is a stressful affair.

We had barely left the street on our way to East Anglia before our daughters embarked on the chorus of "Are we there yet?" It continued into deepest Lincolnshire.

Of course we made use of all the usual travel games, such as I Spy and Spot The Little Chef. A pocket-sized leaflet I had picked up in the supermarket came up trumps with Car Snooker, in which you spot coloured cars in order of the snooker balls. But all were short-lived and the children always insisted that we participate - believe me it is not easy looking out for a pink car while trying to negotiate a motorway contraflow near Kings Lynn, designed by someone who I assume gets a kick out of multiple pile ups.

We rarely travel outside Yorkshire and the journey to East Anglia brought back memories of childhood holidays, when my parents occupied the seats now taken by me and my husband.

I was in the back with my younger brother and sister.

My dad went to great lengths to keep us entertained. He bought a book called "Where's that car from", in which each vehicle's registration number was listed alongside its county of origin.

His intentions were good, but unfortunately the fun backfired. The book was like a telephone directory only worse - and while trawling through the lists we all became severely car sick.

Try as parents might, there is no easy solution. The local styles of home decor proved a blessing in Suffolk as my daughters spent each car journey totting up the 'Barbie houses' - those painted in the county's traditional shades of pink.

I like the nanny idea. Someone who can sit with the children and keep them occupied while you chill out. If it works in the air, surely it will work on the road.

Only worry is, the cramped, sweet wrapper-strewn back seat of a VW Polo going to Scarborough probably won't have the same appeal as a fully-kitted-out creche on a plane heading for St Lucia.

Updated: 09:40 Monday, November 24, 2003