Four wheels, good – minus four wheels, very bad

For a few brief seconds Rab contemplated getting rid of his car. Then he pondered over strange people on buses, cycling, carrying bags of shopping and journeys to Skye – and thought better of it

I’m thinking about getting rid of the car. I’ll rephrase that: I am not thinking seriously about getting rid of the car.

But the thought occurs from time to time: could I manage without it? I could but my life would become one of despair and dread.

To put matters in perspective: I don’t use my car much. That is to say, I use it every other day but I rarely leave town from one month to the next.

It’s used for the supermarket shop, of course and for two classes a week and one visit to friends. But that’s about it.

The supermarket is 20 minutes’ walk away but carrying the bags back that distance would remind me of my days of youthful penury when I lacked the many assets that I have today such as, er, the car.

Each of my classes is a two-bus journey away, so I’d spend more time travelling than in the class. I’d have to give them up but could perhaps find something nearer, which would be a shame, as I’ve attended these classes for years. As for my friends, they’ve lately had to suffer a neighbour playing the dreaded doomf-doomf-doomf “music”, which has been driving us doolally, so it looks like they’ll be coming chez moi in future.

I must say I do not contemplate buses with equanimity. They just don’t work for me. My last excursion was on December 29 and, unaware that they were still running a Christmas service, I waited over an hour at the back of 6 in the morning and ended up having to get a taxi.

Do not even dream of mentioning cycling to me. I will never be seen dead on one of Satan’s chariots and am appalled that the practice remains legal at the time of going to press.

I need the car for very occasional visits to Skye, of course. Last time I checked the trains to Kyle of Lochalsh, it quickly became apparent that I’d be marginally quicker walking to the Moon. Besides, being carless on Skye would be impractical.

I came late to driving and learned in a rural area where the reverse parking instruction was: “See if you can get in there, between the field and the sea.”

But I can’t imagine now how I coped with life’s journeys before I got a car. I look back at trips I took to gardens, castles and so on, or indeed whole holidays and wondered how the hell I did it. I suppose more people lugged suitcases and whatnot around in those days.

It was all so time-consuming apart from anything else.

On public transport, one also runs the risk of having to share a seat with people who suffer from halitosis of the personality.

Most regional bus companies operate under council by-laws that specify a policy of at least one weirdo per bus and the vehicle will not commence its journey until they are aboard and yelling.

At least in my car, I am the only one yelling. True, driving is stressful but it gets you from A to B at the drop of a clutch. So, no, I won’t be getting rid of my car just yet. Who could think of such a thing?

A sight that will carry on a lot longer. Rab simply cannot contemplate getting rid of his car.