A date with Katherine Heigl

A date with Katherine Heigl

Every new car we’ve had this year (and that’s probably around 50) has been, well, a bit dull. Sure, we get fast stuff (Porsche Cayman S, for instance), we get expensive stuff (Audis, Beemers and even a hybrid Lexus), and it’s all ‘nice’, but it all comes wrapped in an array of electronic aids that make it like going on a date with Katherine Heigl, but suddenly realising you’re looking through cataracts and have to wear a spacesuit.

The senses are dulled, lulled and pulled downwards into a state of comfortable acceptance. You are safe. This isn’t a car, it’s a rolling fortress of attenuated ambient noise and consumate relaxation ready to whisk you in total convenience and pleasantness without having to concern yourself with whether there’s an afterlife or not. And we’ve come to accept and embrace that, so much so that the VIP scene is strong with it’s blinged-out decade-old Mercs and BMWs.

It wasn’t like this 10 years ago. 10 years ago I owned a version 4 Subaru WRX STI  – WRX blue with gold wheels. No traction control, no ABS and (with a couple of small mods) 300hp to spice things up. Today’s Impreza STI is still fast, but the danger factor is more like playing a computer game in your lounge than slapping Paris Hilton and running from her bodyguards. Oh how I’d like to slap Paris Hilton. But that’s another story.

I am absolutely certain that 20 years ago people were saying the same, ruing the demise of muscle cars and worrying about the new fangled Ford Sierra. In 20 years time we will think that a Prius was risque. Now I’d rather face Hilton’s entourage than say that!

Every new car we’ve had this year (and that’s probably around 50) has been, well, a bit dull. Sure, we get fast stuff (Porsche Cayman S, for instance), we get expensive stuff (Audis, Beemers and even a hybrid Lexus), and it’s all ‘nice’, but it all comes wrapped in an array of electronic aids that make it like going on a date with Katherine Heigl, but suddenly realising you’re looking through cataracts and have to wear a spacesuit.

The senses are dulled, lulled and pulled downwards into a state of comfortable acceptance. You are safe. This isn’t a car, it’s a rolling fortress of attenuated ambient noise and consumate relaxation ready to whisk you in total convenience and pleasantness without having to concern yourself with whether there’s an afterlife or not. And we’ve come to accept and embrace that, so much so that the VIP scene is strong with it’s blinged-out decade-old Mercs and BMWs.

It wasn’t like this 10 years ago. 10 years ago I owned a version 4 Subaru WRX STI  – WRX blue with gold wheels. No traction control, no ABS and (with a couple of small mods) 300hp to spice things up. Today’s Impreza STI is still fast, but the danger factor is more like playing a computer game in your lounge than slapping Paris Hilton and running from her bodyguards. Oh how I’d like to slap Paris Hilton. But that’s another story.

I am absolutely certain that 20 years ago people were saying the same, ruing the demise of muscle cars and worrying about the new fangled Ford Sierra. In 20 years time we will think that a Prius was risque. Now I’d rather face Hilton’s entourage than say that!

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