The current Mrs Grimley has decided that schlepping around in our elderly Nissan Primera is not befitting a woman of her status. When pressed on the subject, she couldn’t make a full and frank description of what exactly this status was, but one thing she was absolutely certain about was that it demanded that use of a Subaru Impreza. A silver one. With a turbocharger.
Being the man in the relationship I was informed that my duty was not to dispute this, but instead release my inner automotive Sherlock Holmes and seek out her dream wheels. And after several evenings of searching, I proudly summoned her into my den and presented a computer screen containing a gleaming example of glorious WRX-ness. It was silver, came with a blower the size of a fat child and in every way met the criteria laid out to me. But instead of skipping around the room, she looked rather crestfallen.
No
“It does look nice, but I wanted an automatic.”
With great restraint I pointed out that an integral part of the performance car experience is performing your own gear changes. Immersing yourself in the process of ensuring ratios are expertly switched to exactly suit the prevailing conditions helped turn driving from just another activity into a holistic mechanical experience. Why, oh why, would she want to deny herself this joy?
“Well it’s just easier, isn’t it? I’d have to think too much with a manual.”
People have recently been cheering to the rooftops about the raising of the minimum age to hold a driving license, but for the life of me I can’t see why. I know of five year olds whose intelligence would be insulted by driving a modern automatic. In fact I suspect my friend’s dog – and we are talking about an animal which can be confounded by its own shadow – would make a reasonable fist of it.
And trust me, if Ash the moronic Labrador could have a go, then driving a car has become a task that most sane people will find rather easy. And that’s a bad thing. Continue reading “Automatic For The People?” »
