THE MIDDLE LANE

Think you’re cleverer than your satnav? Allow Sam Philip to have a word in your shell-like...

Hello Simon. It’s me. Your faithful orienteering companion, your spatially savvy sidekick, your map-reading mate. Your satnav.

Now look, Simon. You’re the boss. You’re the one in charge of this motor vehicle. I’m just a state-of-the-art automated geospatial positioning and guidance system with almost unfathomable processing power. I’ve got no skin in this game.

But even so, couldn’t help noticing you ignored that left turn I suggested you take back there. It’s cool. Like I say, totally your choice. Doesn’t bother me whether we get to your dentist appointment on time. Not my root canal in throbbing, blinding agony here.

Only – and just for my own peace of mind here – I’m curious. Why would you even switch me on if you’re just going to ignore my advice? I’m constantly monitoring positional data from 32 satellites in six orbital planes. You’re a failed blogger from Leatherhead.

OK, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I don’t know about those temporary roadworks on Church Road. Come on, Simon. It’s not the late Noughties any more. I’m packing live traffic alerts, I’m hooked up to Waze, I’m wired into the Highways England mainframe. I can tell you the

“I’M JUST A SUPER-COMPUTER DEDICATED TO DELIVERING YOU TO YOUR DESTINATION SWIFTLY”

position of every traffic cone from here to Kettering. I know about those roadworks. I know they finished yesterday. What you don’t know about, Simon, is the snarl-up at the junction of Kings and Redwood you’re barrelling straight towards, wearing that smug expression you always wear when you think you’ve beaten the system. Oh that’s right, Simon. I see you.

But hey, your call. I’m just a super-computer dedicated to the task of delivering you to your destination as swiftly as possible, what do I know? It’s your funeral. Your root canal.

But if you’re still interested, I’ve crunched the numbers, and you’ll be all good if you just take the next left up here. Danbury Street. Just past the post office, hang a le—yep, can’t help noticing you’ve ignored me again there, Simon. Really can’t overstate the jamminess of this jam up ahead, boss. Absolute car crash. Truck crash, technically. Cucumber lorry rear-ended a vinegar tanker. It’s a right pickle.

OK Simon. Last chance. See that lane up there? You need to take it. I know it looks narrow, but you have to trust me. I’m the result of half a century of innovation from some of the greatest minds in computer science. Last week you forgot you were intolerant to peanuts, ate a family pack of M&Ms, and gave yourself a three-day migraine. This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardise it. Take the lane, Simon. Take it.

Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now just sit back, relax and enjoy the smoo—ah. Yes. It does rather appear I’ve just navigated you into what can only be described as ‘a medium-sized boating lake’. Ah well, you can’t win them all. Enjoy the swim, big lad!