The Walk of Life By Trevor Edge

I hate cars. I love driving but I hate cars. No other singular human invention has caused me more grief than the car, except maybe beer. I've had a few (cars that is not beers) and the things are only there for one reason ... to bleed the bank account dry. If you buy an old car it will break down, crash or be broken into. If you buy a new car it will break down, crash or be broken into. Either way, you'll probably have to pay expensive insurance premiums or repair bills. When the thing is running you have to pay over the odds for petrol and you have to maintain it to a reasonable standard to ensure it doesn't break down again.

People who say as long as you look after a car it will not break down are people who spend more time with their car than their family or friends. They sit in the garage at midnight buffing their pristine bumpers. They spend so much time tampering with the settings on their engines that they never even drive the blasted thing, that's why it never breaks down.

My old man had a Datsun Cherry for a good while when I was a lad. This car had the perfect anti-theft device, it broke down after 50 yards. I'd come down in a morning, see it was gone, pick up the keys and head to the end of the street to bring it back. We could never go anywhere in it, but we loved that car.

No steering lock, alarm or immobiliser is sufficient to rid me of my curse. I could fill my car with water and it would still catch fire. I could be driving through a tunnel and still be struck with lightning. The catalogue of troubles I have had with cars would barely fit on this page. Wherever I park or drive my car someone decides to take a crowbar to it or ram into it or condemn it as unsafe. It's not limited to cars either. Put me on a train and leaves will congregate in the distance. Put me on a bike and glass will mysteriously appear in the tyre. Any mode of transport is a hazard when I'm in transit. I daren't go near planes or boats any more. I'm probably considered an unintentional terrorist.

I went driving around France once in a Mini. I know it was tempting fate, but I had to try. A few miles from the South coast it broke down on an autoroute (French motorway, for those who've never ventured). Enough oil started spurting from the hood for a Texan to dance a jig.

I called the police, as is law in such circumstances in La France, and they arranged for me to be towed to a nearby village. A doddery old man told me I was stranded for a couple of days and he'd ferry me to the nearest village. Once there a hire car employee inadvertently swiped my card more than once, topping it out and leaving me temporarily penniless. When I eventually sorted it and got the car back the bill only had one word on it ... soufflé?! To this day I am confused why this dessert was necessary or so expensive, but the Mini got me home so I didn't complain. I wasn't going to make a point at the end of the article, as this was merely a chance for me to vent my anger at my latest break in and resulting break down of car, but you've read this far so I may as well give it a go...

Don't buy a car. Don't spend extortionate amounts learning to drive. Sure you might get a better paid job, but you'll spend half your income travelling to and from work or at least attempting to. Don't get on a bus, because by the time it arrives you'll be sodden to the bone and if that wasn't enough to give you a cold then you'll be stepping into a mobile germ factory.

Don't get a taxi unless you enjoy paying over the odds for the closest to a white knuckle ride outside of your nearest amusement park. I'd even go as far as to say don't get on your bike, because the obvious health benefits are outweighed by the surrounding threat of all of the aforementioned.

For those of you who are able-bodied and capable, just for once when you put on your shoes take note of the wondrous invention that is the foot. They usually come in pairs and alternating advancements of these can lead to movement known as walking. Yes it is a relatively slow means of transport, but who's to say that life should not be lived at such a pace. If you don't whiz by at 70 miles an hour you might actually take note of something beautiful known as nature which, I may add, doesn't care much for the constant stream of pollution pouring forth from your automobile.

Who knows for some of us it might lead to seeing far more of our feet than the fraction of millimetre barely visible beyond the gargantuan guts of modern day Brits. So to paraphrase Bob Hoskins, in a way completely unconnected to the original advert, It's good to walk.

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