On the whole I've begun to enjoy not having a car. I can kid myself that I'm doing the environment a favour. Whenever the question of who is going to have to drive to the pub comes up, my hand stays firmly on the table. And I also get to make use of England's integrated transport system (its like a lottery - will today be the day I make it to my destination?)
It does, however, mean that I put my life into the hands of my colleagues on a daily basis. This, combined with the habit English local government has of waiting until the roads actually freeze before doing anything about it is making for, er, entertaining drives into work.
P was bowling down the country road to the office. "Gosh," he said, "The roads are a bit slippery" and blipped the throttle to prove his point. I heard the wheels struggling to maintain grip. I instinctively hit the invisible brake pedal that all car manufacturers thoughtfully provide for passengers.
Actually, "Gosh" wasn't the word he used, but I've almost used up my quota of cursing for the year and need to save some for when I throw myself off a mountain next week.
As if to prove P's point, the car in front of us performed a delicate 180 degree slide across the road. It ended up on the other side, pointing the wrong way. P's ABS brakes fought a losing battle against the ice and we slid past, mere millimetres from the unfortunate driver, who was still gripping his steering wheel and doubtless wondering if he'd died.
We didn't speak for the rest of the journey. "Lucky the seat covers are black" P observed as we pulled into the office car park.
