My transportation to work at the moment is that particularly masculine phenomonen - the binary car.
The binary car has two modes of movement:
Stop.
Screaming down the road with the needle bouncing off the rev limiter.
I love this. While my friend grips the steering wheel with an icy determination to destroy the engine (he resents the existance of this car since it replaced his beloved BMW) I hang onto the FuckMe handles saying "Weeeeee!" as corners are dispatched with a precision not in keeping with the humble family car origins of the vehicle.
(For those confused, FuckMe Handles are those handles placed above the door apperture on most cars these days. Their purpose is to allow a passenger to hang on, yelling "FUCK ME!!!!" (as an exclamation rather than an invitation) as the driver conducts a particularly foolhardy cornering or overtaking manoevure. I've also heard them referred to as "JesusChrist Handles", but that would be offensive to christians, while the F-word is offensive to all denominations. I'm nothing if not inclusive.)
I'm a little nervous of the binary car today. So far this morning there have been two fatalities on the country lane to my office, and some impressive crashes - lorries to the brickworks next door have dumped clay all over the tarmac thus making things a little slippery.
If there are no further posts to this journal, you'll know the reason why.
