I'll admit it

NEEDS CHANGE

I am not a good driver.  That's not a statement I'd have been happy to make a few years ago, but times change. 

I've been driving for 45 years and have no idea how many thousands of miles I may have covered.  All kinds of vehicles, including a double decker bus.  Left hand drive, right hand drive, manual, automatic, three speed, four speed, five speed, six speed, saloons, estates, hatchbacks, sportscars, vans, off roaders, diesel, petrol, two cylinders, three cylinders, four cylinders, five cylinders, six cylinders, and a brief shot at a rotary Wankel.  An open wheel racer and towing a trailer.  Long distances - about 650 miles was the furthest in a day - different countries, different laws, very different driving standards.  I suppose I could even claim to have been a professional driver, if you'd count punting an ancient ice cream van over the coastal roads of East Lothian. 

And I always tried to take it seriously, keep learning, keep finding ways to be a bit better, a bit safer, a bit quicker if needed, able to read the conditions and the traffic, able to stay relaxed, able to minimise the fuel consumption and not punish the vehicle.  I picked up little tips.  On a long night trip clean all the glass, except the rear window - reduces glare for lights behind you.  On an unfamiliar road you can often figure out the way ahead by keeping an eye on the line of the trees (not such a useful skill in the age of satnav!).  I liked driving.

We're into May now, and I think I might have driven about three or four times since the new year began.  And that's been the pattern for the past twelve and more months.  Before that the car got a weekly outing over the winter, from September until the end of March, taking us to Murrayfield Ice Rink to watch the Caps play.  And the odd longer trip to watch away matches, and Nottingham in April.  But with that option now denied us the wheels have sat still, the brake discs dulling, moving parts unmoved.  And parts start to seize up with disuse.

As does the driver, or at least his skills.  The reactions lose an edge, the judgement is less able, the confidence siphons off.   Now I'm near to having to think about what I'm doing, the instincts built up over decades atrophying, the enjoyment gone.  It's become a chore.

And so why bother?  I live in a city with award winning public transport, I'm fit enough to walk much of the time, the bus pass can take me anywhere in the country for free, and if I book early enough the train is no more expensive than driving, plus I get to read on the way.  So it's time to contemplate the radical.  Not owning a car.  I've had one for most of those four and a half decades, had some interesting steeds along the way.  But the interest, even fascination, with the skills of driving have long since faded.  And my life, as lived now, simply doesn't need a car on tap.  There's no use case to justify the expense of road tax, insurance, MoT, servicing, repairs and depreciation, when a hire car can be obtained cheaply at quite short notice. 

It's not gone yet, and I'm not sure how emotional I'll feel when it's no longer sat there.  The sensible decision isn't always one your fragile ego is as eager to accept as you hope it will....