Best friends on a road to nowhere

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Comedy golden girl and modern-day Meg Ryan, the kooky, dimple-chinned Jennifer Aniston has just been voted the perfect friend to share a long-distance road trip.

Are they stark-raving mad, the film fanatics quizzed for this pointless survey by Sky?

Aniston may have been a little love in Friends (and pretty much every movie she’s been in since, come to think of it) - but that’s not HER; it’s a made-up character, just like Bugs Bunny.

She’d be the last road buddy I’d choose to head off on a Thelma and Louise with, I tell you; too much competition. Too damned pretty. Plus she’d take up too much luggage space... All that L’Oreal Elvive. And I’ll bet she can’t change a spare tyre.

Still, at least on a road trip Aniston is going to be dressed. Unless you’re foolish enough to book stopovers at hotels with spa facilities (saunas and fancy showers) she won’t be baring her bikini-fit body and inadvertently making you feel like a human lilo.

True, her attire will probably comprise of short and sweet little sundresses, or denim cut-offs teamed with a shirt borrowed from yet another boyfriend who’s not going to marry her, tied high to expose her perfect navel (the shirt, not the beau). But most of the time, she WILL be sitting down, so that’s OK.

My perfect road trip companion? It would be:

A. Someone who actually WANTS to do ALL the driving

B. Someone who knows exactly where they’re going and doesn’t need me to read the map

C. Someone who is happy to circle the town we are to spend the night in at least four times to ensure we have found absolutely the nicest and best value little B&B

D. Someone who will go with the flow and doesn’t approach the getting from A to Z like a military procedure and have a mild seizure when you suggest a spur of the moment detour.

Something tells me that the Sky-watchers who plumped for Aniston as their perfect holiday partner were mostly male.

And I feel I must warn them of their naivety. Jennifer may appear to be one of those women they dream of finding one day; a sweet, perennially perky little poppet who is incredibly low maintenance; no trouble - no trouble at all.

Boys, you might remember in her Mrs Pitt days, slouching around in his ‘n’ her Havaiana flip-flops and co-ordinating Maharishi combat pants.

But pound to a penny that was just to keep Brad happy and she’s just as high maintenance as the rest of womankind.

It takes a heck of a lot of work to look that natural, you know.

I’ll bet she takes hair-straighters camping and 28 pairs of knickers on a fortnight’s holiday.

And even if you are the most ardent male Aniston fan, you are going to get fed up of her fretting about her hair.

Out there, roof down on those dark desert highways, warm smell of colitas rising up through the air, the cool wind refreshing your pate will be bugging the hell out of Jen.

She will be sitting there, furiously spitting out great gobs-full of honeyed highlights. And she won’t like it one bit.

Road trip to hell, more like.