Toll Roads Could Save Your Ass

I don't think there any other times I've felt my body wants to dismember itself more, than when I'm in the car. I know for certain my dad never wanted to rip his ears off his head when driving at my age, yet time and time again Pitbull decides to release another belter or rhyme Kodak with Kodak, and my ears want to head skyward when it's played on the car radio. It's not just my ears either, my legs want to fall off and run away at least twice a day as I sit in suburban London's permanent traffic jam. And my eyes want to melt themselves as they observe driving that wouldn't look out of place in Arena Essex Raceway.

Unfortunately for me though, without sounding like I spend my Friday night's sniffing poppers in G.A.Y, it's my buttocks that take the biggest pounding behind the wheel. Thanks to those city bankers playing monopoly with our money, it seems there now isn't enough cash to fix the jigsaw that is our roads. So as a result us motorists are driving on tarmac more broken than Pete Burn's face. And it hurts.

But over the past couple of weeks I've had time for the butt bruises to heal and the shattered spine to repair itself, all thanks to the European continent's toll roads. These smooth, pothole free roads are more well kept that Alan Titchmarsh's rose bushes, and happily ferry traffic as dense as the M1's between mountains and cities alike. It's all because they're funded through the evil method of tolling.

I hate tolls, why should I have to pay to drive along a motorway, when in this day and age it's as much of a right to freedom to jump behind the wheel of a car, as it is to stick on your trainers and walk down the street? You don't pay a charge to walk into busy areas of pedestrians, so why should you to access the black stuff? Well if I'm honest, as much as this mentality is still essentially mine even after seeing the greener grass of French and Spanish motorways, I am beginning to think otherwise ever so slightly. 

During my long distance drive on the continent between France's Calais and the Costa Blanca of Spain, I think we encountered about three potholes on our entire motorway journey. Bloody three, across about 1000miles. I'd encounter that many across about 3 foot in Britain for crying out loud, so I'm sure you'll agree that what I'm about to say is at least worth thinking about.

We should bring tolls to Britain.

Take it in, breath, and take it in again. Now hold all those 'not in my back yard' thoughts and just hear me out. We could at least begin to fix the crumbling roads of Britain, with small charges that are capped and entirely distance dependant. So driving from London to Leeds up the M1 could see you paying a maximum of say, £18. Would that drastically alter your day? The fact most people won't be making that sort of journey more than a few times a year, and in many cases they'd be driving a shiny German saloon for the trip, that 18 quid wouldn't change a thing. And for shorter journeys, say a couple of junctions of the M62 for example, you wouldn't be paying more than a few pence.

It might seem drastic, and another way for us to part with cash in order to clean up the government's mess, but if we were able to ensure this money was used solely to improve and maintain roads, I think more people would be interested than you might think. For starters, better roads would save millions on car repairs relating to road damage each year. And if the current system of road funding remained in place, we could ensure the toll cash didn't act as a source of saving for the government.

So essentially this system would see road improvements, probably less dreaded Sunday drivers and reduced suspension damage costs, all for a few quid a week. And it certainly looks as though at the current rate, buckled wheels will become a common place in car ownership with the volume of potholes we have to drive over. So in order to avoid a future of square wheels and black and blue bums, surely road tolling could serve as a quick and effective fix?

Please feel free to tweet me, email or comment with your thoughts. Alternatively, when sending letter bombs please make sure they are correctly weighted and stamped.

Go Forth and Buy British..Or Don't

Recently I left London for a driving holiday with my family. This doesn't however, mean we went on holiday with the sole purpose of driving, rather that the car was our source of transportation. Strange I suppose, since you wouldn't call a normal holiday a flying holiday. But just roll with me on this..

So anyway we were driving towards our destination, the big plot of land home to afternoon naps and bright red Brits called Spain, and I noticed quite a few things on our way. First of all, I noticed how France's motorways are a giant rip off, with toll station clerks seemingly making up the biggest number they could think of when charging us for using their tarmac. And secondly, I noticed that Europeans love to drive cars from their own countries.

Passing through France, the roads were awash with Peugeots, Renaults and Citroens. As we entered Spain, suddenly the roads were covered in a sprinkling of Seats. And of course the tourist infested Costa Blanca was full of neighbouring European countrymen, from BMW driving Germans to Alfa Romeo driving Italians. It seemed despite us being united as a continent, Europeans really like to drive their own.

Except us Brits however. British drivers instead were driving a mixture of all of the aforementioned cars, plus a mixture of Japanese motors that meant it was impossible to spot a British driven car. The only signs of a British pilot were a GB sticker on the bootlid, or the screams of crashing Europeans being blinded by headlights angled at oncoming traffic.

So with this in mind, I began to consider how maybe we should be proud of our ability to choose a car based on its ability to perform as one, rather than the origins of its badge. Of how us Brits are beyond nationalism and embracing a more united world.

But then I saw an orange McLaren MP4-12C with GB plates roll down the Spanish motorway, and all that changed instantly. A car built just outside of London in leafy Woking, designed and engineered by the best in the business and built by the sort of men who don't drink coffee or sip on wine, but rather who go to the pub and down a couple of pints and eat pies, this car at that moment was more than just a performance vehicle to me. It was the ultimate representation of Britain in and amongst those Alfas and Beemers. 

So there and then I made a decision. I love my little French hot hatch, but for my next car I would happily buy British. I wouldn't go so far as choosing a car that is rubbish just because it's been welded together on Old Blighty, but I would certainly feel an added sense of pleasure knowing I'm driving something someone called Gavin could have made. Thankfully that forces me to reopen the tabs of my TVR searches on Autotrader, and means I should start drinking more beer and stop thinking about getting a chest wax.

Now this isn't to say that our European neighbour's cars aren't great, in many cases they're fantastic. But as a nation once heading the automotive world, our car industry is now comparatively tiny. Lots of cars are made here, but cars of entirely British origin are few and far between the slightly German Bentleys and foreign funded Lotus'. Very few cars are made in Britain that don't at least see one Asian, American or European executive make an influential decision. And this makes me sad.

So I say Britons, don't go so far as to being a nationalistic ass who rejects people from abroad, but do be proud of what we can achieve on this tiny little island. We may not produce them in such volume anymore, but what cars we do contribute to the automotive industry are all generally bloody good. Go forth and buy as many McLarens, Nobles and when they start making them again, TVRs as you can. It's the only way we can help to rebuild what could so easily have been a thriving British car industry. 

But then again, that 458 Ferrari does sound lovely. And those AMG Blacks are sexy as hell. They do say TVRs break down a lot as well; plus my little Renaultsport is as characterful a hot hatch I've ever driven. And my goodness Spanish girls are gorgeous too. Maybe I should hold onto that pro British thought for a bit longer then, maybe Europe ain't so bad..

Driving On The Continent: A Deafening Game Of High Speed Dodgeball

Daft Punk's new album 'Random Access Memories' is good, really good. I like it, and as far as I can tell so do most others in the UK. But if I thought we were enjoying their single 'Get Lucky' a little too much, I now know that their native France's obsession of the album is at a whole other level. Travelling through the country for just over 2 hours, I must have heard the song more than thrice on the radio. This was added to the fact it was playing in the service station we stopped at, as well as the headphones of a Frenchie we sat next to on the ferry crossing the Channel.

Anyone born with a soft, squishy organ between the walls of their skull, would surely be driven insane by this repetitive, ongoing brown nosing of 'Random Access Memories'. The Belgians seemed to agree with this, as they sat inches from the bumpers of cars in front. Initially this tailgating angered me, but then a moment of realisation helped me to sympathise with them. I came to the conclusion that they were only trying to hustle their way across France as quickly as possible, in order to escape this showering of high pitched Froggery and return to their hilly land of chocolate and very tight shorts.

There was a flaw to this Belgian driving style on the continent however; it did have a tendency to increase the odds of you suffering complete and catastrophic suspension failure. Driving inches off the bumper of the leading car removed any chance of seeing upcoming obstacles on the road. This was something we learned the hard way, but how were we to know that driving along European motorways was like playing dodgeball, except the balls are potholes and they're flying at you at 80mph? Playing suspension dodgeball with your vision shielded by the French Zafira you're now tailgating, was largely impossible. And it wasn't helped as we fought temptation to drive towards the trees as 'Get Lucky' was played yet again on French radio.

But even with all this, I still enjoyed my drive through France, the weather was lovely. Although next time I'm there I'll be packing the iPod, and I might need to get myself a 4x4 too, if I want to reduce the chances of losing a wheel.