The true cost of the convenience economy

‘Where’s the car?’ said my wife Alice, interrupting my Zoom meeting on Saturday morning. ‘It’s where you left it,’ I said perhaps more pointedly than was kind. ‘When you drove it home last night. On the drive.’ ‘No it isn’t,’ she said.

I left my Zoom meeting, shambled to the front of the house and looked out of the window. She was right. Half-full skip, yes. Wheelie bins, yes. The usual pizza boxes, empty vodka miniatures and crisp packets scattered outside our house by generous pedestrians? Present and correct. But no car.

‘It’s been stolen,’ I said gloomily and, of course, I was right. Much of the next couple of days was spent on hold to the insurance company and the Met — both of whom seem in a spirit of ecumenism to be keen on respecting both the Jewish and Christian Sabbaths. I was relatively stoical about this, but I can’t say I was happy. I love that car.

It isn’t all that fancy but it’s a bit fancy: a Land Rover Discovery Sport. It’s the first car I’ve ever owned that I actively like. It’s good for transporting a family of five and occasional hangers-on. When it’s cold the seats — miracle of slightly creepy miracles — warm your bottom. And when you push on the accelerator while heading uphill, unlike our last motor, it goes faster rather than on strike. I thought it probably wasn’t so fancy as to attract the attention of thieves. I was wrong. Our neighbour’s CCTV caught a glimpse of a so-far-unidentified tracksuited toe-rag climbing in and driving off at quarter to five in the morning. The whole process took about 15 seconds.

It is, it seems, almost comically easy to steal these hi-tech keyless cars. And the fancier the car, the easier it is to steal.