I have always been interested in cars. Ever since I was a youngster, I was climbing into, out of, on and around my parents’ cars. Going for a drive out into the country roads was a treat, and roads that wound their way through the glens of Antrim, between narrow hedgerows, or up to a high spot to look over the sea to Scotland were a favourite. I tinkered in the garage, held spanners and fetched things for the men. I was driving before I could see properly over the dashboard and before I could reach the pedals to fully depress the clutch without sliding down in the seat to reach it. I drove on backroads at night, when other car lights could be seen at some distance, giving enough time to quickly swap seats with an indulgent parent in case the passing car may contain a police officer. Police officers are not known for their humour or indulgence when having stopped a vehicle they peer in through the driver’s window to find a 10 year old.
At the time of the first oil shock of the mid 1970s, petrol prices skyrocketed, supplies reduced and there was much discussion about the world running out of oil. I worried that by the time I would be old enough to drive, there would be no oil left. My son is not old enough to have his driving license yet, even though he has been driving for over 7 years. He, too, enjoys drives in the hills especially in V8 engined cars with manual gearboxes. He worries about the future of driving. For him, the reasons are different.
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