Times a’changing as I say goodbye to an old friend

I SAID goodbye to an old friend this week. No, not the dog, though we did have a major alarm on that front, but a thing I treasured almost as much and had travelled nearly as many miles with. I have never been one for things; material things I mean. I don’t wear a watch (or an earring although secretly I have always quite wanted one), I don’t buy and hoard clothes or shoes, and am a fan of chucking away, or recycling of course, things if you don’t use them. I have some books that are precious, two or three paintings that I like, and I used to adore my ridiculously large collection of vinyl albums. Technology has made them redundant, and most of the collection has now gone. Some of the classic album covers have been recycled as pictures, the rest, I am ashamed to say, are buried somewhere in our garage, surrounded by a mower, a strimmer, loads of boxes and other outdoor stuff. It must be time for them to go too. My last car on the other hand was a material thing that I really adored. It had been with me for the best part of 100,000 miles. It was black, sleek, robust, powerful, and extraordinarily reliable. It was the first car I had that had the sort of interior technology that I suspect all cars have now: satellite navigation, bluetooth that connects to your phone, and a sound system that made it by some distance the very best place to listen to music very loud. I spent many hours in that car, discovered magical places, held meetings, had great family holidays, and had some wonderful moments of solitude discovering new music, and listening to old favourites very loud indeed. Never once did that car even show a glimmer of letting me down and going wrong. Even the dogs loved it. After a long beach walk, a tramp across the moor, or a climbed mountain, they would break into a run as soon as they spotted it, I’d click the automatic boot, and they’d jump straight into its cosy dry warmth. But, a bit like the old dog, my reliable old friend had begun to creak round the edges. The faultless engine at its heart was still strong as an ox, but the body was starting to fail. I was determined to stick with her, until she completely petered out, but all of a sudden I had my head turned by a conversation in the gym, and the chance arrival of a flighty young thing that caught my eye. The conversation was a depressing one about climate change, global warming, and how our own efforts to recycle, use less petrol, eat less meat and turn the heating down a notch seemed so pointless. But one of the conversationalists was passionate and adamant: “Yes, but imagine if 10,000 people did it, or more”, was her very well put point. My return home coincided with the eerily silent return home of Mrs Martin, who was driving a small, bright white 100% electric courtesy car she had been lent while hers was serviced. “You have got to see this,” she said, unusually for someone not known to enthuse about motor vehicles. We went for a drive.

It was amazing, a super hi-tech car, with just a hint of go-kart. A short chat about how life has changed, things we wanted to change, and the fact that if we ever do travel again we’ll get the train, and the deal was done. I’ve gone electric. I have just checked my app to see how my first ever charge-up is progressing. It’s all good. I went for a long, farewell drive with the mighty car from Bavaria. We enjoyed some Dylan, a Chemical Brothers classic, some very heavy metal and a bit of the blues. I think I even gave her a little pat before handing over the keys. It’s a bloody car for Pete’s sake!