City Transport: Driving You Mad

'Being behind the wheel of a car can turn someone from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde'

SUN, sea, and the open road. The adverts on the television that show brand new cars cutting through the deserts, spinning their way along winding roads with ocean views and ascending large mountains, don't really express a typical day's driving in Britain. Unless there's a Lidl store at the top of that mountain.

And, as I am not a fan of driving, it's misleading to suggest that the real driving experience in Britain is anything quite as exciting as those adverts suggest. In fact, at the bottom of the screen, there should be a disclaimer suggesting: 'Driving experiences may vary'.

If my driving experience is anything to go by (burning rubber, choking on the smell of a smouldering clutch, stalling as much as is physically possible, architecting a repetitive strain injury in the neck, and causing the car to howl like the feral lovechild of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and the Reliant Regal van from Only Fools and Horses - all before leaving the driveway); cruising through a mountain pass on a sunny day seems slightly more enjoyable.

The adverts also imply that there are no other cars on the road. No traffic lights. No speed bumps. No over-excited individuals in a rush to get back for Deal or No Deal.

The driving experience in the commercials suggest that, to get to work, you just drive in a straight line across a desert and pull up outside. No gridlock traffic jams.

They also imply that the weather is always warm and sunny - but that doesn't matter because, as the adverts suggest, you just roll up your sleeves and drive with one arm resting on the window ledge.

In reality, you're boiling hot because you can't open the window for fear of getting stabbed, mugged or lung disease from the toxic gas the HGV in front is giving out. So you sit and swelter in the heat because, to afford the fuel for the air-conditioning, you would have to sell your children for scientific experiments.

There's also something about the fact that being behind the wheel of a car can turn someone from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde in a matter of seconds.

Someone who is usually polite and courteous (if such a person exists) can, within seconds of leaving the drive, turn into the devil - not the best disposition of a person behind the wheel of 1.5tonne killing machine.

Even the preserve-making, cake-baking members of the Women's Institute may suddenly flip when cut up at a roundabout and find themselves in a situation not dissimilar to the opening sequences of Saving Private Ryan.

For many people there are not really any other decent methods of getting about. Buses can be unreliable. Taxis are too expensive. Trains are late.

And cycling isn't an option. While it would be enjoyable to ride a bike in the countryside or on a cycle trail, cycling down a main road with the gigantic tyre of an articulated lorry voluntarily exfoliating your legs and the man with the high blood pressure in the BMW acting like he's just discovered the horn whilst bringing the bumper in an uncompromising proximity to your rear end; obviously isn't going to be the most favourable method of city transport.