"I'm sick of all these advertisements!"Dad yelled into the phone. "Stop forcing us up to our feet and making us run to the phones in this house, you and your company!"
"And who do you think you're talking to?" The phone spoke in a calm, dangerous voice, before the line was cut. Dad's face turned ghostly white.
"Pack!" He ordered. "We've got to be out of this house in five minutes!"

So it was the reason why a red BMW shot into Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, car park level 3. Moments later they were at the booking desk booking their flight to godknowswhere.
"It's got to be far away from this country, Nemo." Dad struggled to explain, squinting at the badge. Really it atually declared the person's name to be Owen, just that it was upside down due to the morning rush hour at the airport.
"To Canada!" I exclaimed.
"Cape Town!" Mum uttered.
"California!" Dad pleaded. "Any where but here."
"We've got Air California departing in 5 mins." Owen suggested.
"Excellent." Dad shouted, making several heads turn in suspicion. "We'll have two first class and one visitor for the boy. OW!" Yelped Dad, rubbing a sore mark on his forehead where his wife had just elbowed him."Fine, we'll have three first class." slapping his Visor Card down.

The Boeing 777 edged cautiously towards the run way. Once in the air, Dad giggled.
"We've done it!, we've finally done it!"
"How can you tell he's not the pilot?" Mum asked.
Dad sat bolt upright.
"STEWARD! Bring me a parachute, let alone a jetpack!"
16 hours later, the plane touched down, and after travelling West, then a little East again, the family were left in peace.
But not for long...