Why being anti-car is a luxury belief

It happened six years ago on a flight back from the United States. ‘Sir, I’m pleased to say you’ve been upgraded to first class.’ ‘Wonderful! Where would you like me to sit?’ ‘Anywhere you like, you’re the only passenger.’

The anti-car movement is idiotic – a luxury belief shared by deluded metropolitans

For the next few hours I dined on fine food brought to me at any time I chose and drank the finest wines known to humanity. I had a staff of three to myself. At one point they brought me a silver tray with magazines on it, one of which was The Spectator. ‘Would you like anything to read, sir?’ ‘Yes, I’d like to read something written by, let me see… oh, I know – me!’ I didn’t actually say that, you understand, but I thought it all the same.

It was magnificent. I even got a free pair of pyjamas. But here’s the problem: the emotional high point of that journey, as with every other flight I have ever taken, was the moment I got back to Heathrow and finally climbed into my own car. There is probably a word for this feeling in German – the rapid dissipation of tension and anxiety you experience when you leave any public space and escape into your own vehicle. It’s become even better recently, now you can remotely turn on your car’s heating or air conditioning in advance – so your car is immediately toasty-warm in winter or cool on a hot day. This is the automotive equivalent of getting home late to find your spouse has unexpectedly prepared a chicken Madras – while naked. (This analogy probably works better for male readers, but I hope you get my point all the same.)