I've never been into cars. As long as they can get me from A to B in some degree of comfort, the stereo is easy to work and there's air con I'm a happy camper. So I really can't understand why I've become something of a closet Top Gear viewer. I set up the ironing board, pull out the ironing basket and settle in for a good hour of cars, humour, and steamy business shirts. Top Gear supposedly has 385 million viewers worldwide (although I can't imagine too many other viewers are doing their ironing while they watch). Presenters Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May just have this knack of making cars seem interesting, even to the uninitiated and uninterested.
Apparently SBS is working on an Australian version, to be seen later this year, running in conjunction perhaps with the new motoring magazine Top Gear Australia - out on the stands now.
I was interested to read that Stephen Corby is the editor. I remember young Stephen when he worked here at The Canberra Times, he was so young he was probably still on his L plates. I can't think of a better man to put behind the wheel.
Mind you, he was quoted this week as saying the average male driver "really needs to get his hands off his tools and have a good hard look at himself. [That's definitely the Stephen Corby I remember.] If they're all such good drivers, why do they crash more often than women?"
He was responding to a "manliness" survey in the magazine that found only 15 per cent of men felt comfortable when their wife or girlfriend was driving. The statistics are simple really. More men crash because more men are driving. It's like that ridiculous statistic that "proves" women are worse drivers because they crash more in supermarket carparks. That's because there are more women in supermarket carparks. Duh.
But I must admit that my family fits these statistics. Yes I've given someone a nudge in the supermarket carpark and yes my husband always seems to be the one to take the wheel whenever we're headed somewhere together. My father too always seemed to be in the driver's seat. At least in the car. I can't remember my mother driving us anywhere apart from to school and down the street. And crazy.
The driver's got the easy job I reckon. I'm hanging out for the segment on Top Gear that involves that Star in a Reasonably Priced Car lap with a couple of bickering kids in the back, they want something to eat and drink, and then they vomit, unclick their seatbelts and climb over into the front to turn up the Wiggles music. Let's see how these "drivers" go then.
The car's packed, ready for a holiday. All the driver has to do is slide into the right-hand side and place his hands on the wheel. The co-driver (much prefer this title than navigator or passenger) has to ensure that the interior temperature is pleasing to everyone, that the music choice will cover all ages and tastes, that sandwiches have been packed, drink bottles topped up, snack cups have been filled full of suitably sized and non mess creating snacks, that wipes are within easy reach, and everyone's been to the toilet.
Nothing like a relaxing roadtrip.
Yet the car can be relaxing. When the kids were babies a trip of longer than 20 minutes guaranteed they'd fall asleep. What parent hasn't bundled a rugged-up bub into the car seat at 2am for a quick 20 minute sleep inducing - the bub, hopefully not the driver - trip. These days the 10 minutes I have to myself after dropping everyone off on the way to work and the 10 minutes on the way home before pickup are among my favourite 20 minutes of the day.
Call me crazy but I've welcomed the roadworks at the airport, they've added a good 15 minutes of me time to my day.