Cars were reserved for the rich and famous, like Mrs Bagwash who won the regional bingo. When her Reliant 3-wheeler whizzed by, us young commoners would raise our flat caps and cry:”By gum – that’s the second time this year. She’s flaunting her wealth!”
Now the roads are much crazier. The five-a-side footy lads have turned into Joyriders. Some little brat with acne steals my Skoda and dumps it on Southport beach; with the tide coming in! Oh, joy of joys. And he probably uses my Satnav to get there!
GPS Satnavs are amazing, they can tell you were you’re going and how to get there, even before your wife’s made her mind up. You can download famous voices too. Imagine: Clint Eastwood: “Make my day. Turn left and you’ll miss Wigan!
Of course, many still prefer a real live navigator: the missus again. At least it’s a voice you’ve grown used to... taking orders from.
What women want are bigger mirrors. A car designed by a woman has huge panoramic rear-view mirrors to see if her bum looks big in a Ford Ka. Everything looks big in a Ford Ka. Your chocolate wagon wheel looks as big as it did at school!
A car designed by lads probably has a fridge for the cans. I know one lad who swears a little lager improves his driving. Sure enough, he maintains a perfect 29.9 mph, right through the lights on red. To the boys in blue, he must stand out like a fish in a tree, which is probably where he’ll end up one day. Perfectly parked in one!
Perhaps we should bring back horses. We’ll still be driven crazy, by the 12 hour clip-clop to Blackpool, and the pong from their exhaust particulates. But at least they feed the rhubarb!
© Mike Atkinson.
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