Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

The A272 is a relic of the golden age of motoring

It epitomises everything I love about the England that once was

Oh the joy of the open road – and, having lived my car-owning life one technological stage up from the starting handle, it was a thrill to have temporary ownership of a newish motor. Credit: georgeclerk/iStock 
issue 05 September 2020

In France I own a dented old Mercedes and in England a dented old Mitsubishi Carina. The Mercedes is parked in a cave and covered in sand dust and curling police notices in French; the Mitsubishi rots away in a lay-by in a country lane under a layer of wet leaves, mud and thatching straw. Owing to lockdown and poverty neither is fully functional nor has been started for months. Very occasionally I worry about them or experience a stab of shame at my pedestrianism. Last week I hired a budget car from the brand-new car-hire centre at Bristol airport, the first time I’ve rented a car in 20 years.

The man behind the car-hire counter peered diplomatically at my torn and possibly historic paper driving licence and the column of dense teleprinter type detailing my motoring convictions (two for drunk driving) and the driving bans (one for three years). Fortunately he grasped that all of these were issued when I was young and mental and that the man standing before his counter was now old and boring.

Comments

Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months

Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.

Already a subscriber? Log in