Readers of a certain age might recall the days when people ‘went for a drive’ as a form of pleasure. Yes, as unbelievable as it sounds now that combustion-engined cars are demonised, fuel prices are at an all-time high and unwittingly straying into a ‘low emission zone’ can cost you the price of a plane ticket to New York, there really was a time when people got behind the wheel and went somewhere simply for the joy of it.
And do you know what? I still do. Yes. I am shameless. I still love that feeling of slipping into the driving seat, shutting the door and heading off on a vehicular adventure.
I don’t mean, I hasten to add, some soul-destroying commute into London in which every tedious mile is overshadowed by thoughts of Sadiq Khan’s looming visage. (Have I paid the congestion charge?; Am I ULEZ compliant?; Did I really just see the speedometer register 22 mph?; Is my Ringo app going to work ?; Can I avoid filling-up with London-priced petrol?; Will the car be allowed to remain where I park it?)….
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