Confessions of a recovering autoholic: Why cars don’t matter anymore

Brands that once demanded grovelling and genuflection are now made in India. It’s like discovering that your beloved brand of Scotch is now distilled in Thailand.

The Patent Motor Car of 1887, an advanced version of the first motor car of 1886.

I’ve written before about my tragic addiction to the automobile – as a form of self-expression, rather than a mere mode of transport.

Yes, from the age of 18, when I upgraded from a Vespa motor-scooter to a second-hand Austin A30, I was a hopeless, helpless autoholic, wasting a fortune on every motorised quadruped from a Goggomobil little larger than a skateboard to a remarkably unreliable Rolls-Royce previously owned by the recalcitrant insider trader Rene Rivkin.

With close to 100 cars in between – Jags, Range Rovers, Audis, Citroens, and a fire-red Ferrari – I even watched Top Gear and read columns by Jeremy Clarkson.

“My name is Phillip. And I’m an autoholic.” However, my piteous plight was far beyond the help of any 12-step program. More likely to be cured by a 12-gauge shotgun.

Now in my impecunious rural dotage, I’m more concerned with the attractions of tractors than the seductions of cars, having only a few battered 4WDs. So I can look with pity and moral superiority on those who are still afflicted and addicted.

Indeed, are cars still important as status symbols, as they were in the yesterdays of yesteryears? For example, are we still stupefied by the supercar? At the farm, we have a Lambo (Lamborghini), but it’s now a 20-year-old tractor rather than a 200km/h highway projectile, a motoring missile.

Our friend Adrian has a Tesla – a once-proven symbol of his environmentalist credentials. But now Maddie Musk has so trashed the brand that Adrian drives only at night, using back streets out of fear of derision, vandalism, or condemnation.

Poor, not-as-rich Elon. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Tesla Model Y Performance. Picture: Tesla

As have the cachet of the famous marques. Brands that once demanded grovelling and genuflection are now made in India. It’s like discovering that your beloved brand of Scotch is now distilled in Thailand.

Meanwhile, our roads are gridlocked with brand new brands … from Korea, Malaysia, China. KIA? BYD? Hyundai? BAIC? TATA? Yes, it’s ta-ta to the old pecking order of prestige previously dominated by BMW, Audi and Mercedes. German? Robots in Mexico probably manufacture all. Or Mongolia.

When it comes to establishing your superiority over lesser mortals, it’s now necessary to flaunt with fashion – to turn to the likes of Armani or the fashion houses of France. Or to carry a half-mill handbag that isn’t a knock-off. Or to prove your position in the 1 per cent via unreal real estate – to have the penthouse atop the condo.

Whatever. Clearly, the car doesn’t cut it anymore. No need to waste your inheritance or your ill-gotten Bitcoins on vehicles.

Just 140-odd years after its invention, the automobile is no longer a means of joy but just another mode of transportation, like a tram, bus or taxi. Even trains are more glamorous. At least we can see light at the end of the autoholics’ tunnel. And it’s an oncoming train.

Here’s a heretical suggestion: why bother to own a car at all? Save on tolls, time, fuel and parking fines. Call an Uber or, shudder, a taxi.

Sorry Jeremy. Vale Elon.