Just in case Dave Green is still reading this page, another ‘Today, my cat vomited’-style post, to bait him.
I’m counting the days to the end of this job in Leeds. Though I’ve had plenty of fun, I’ve been on the go since something like September last year, and it’s completely knackering to carry on like this. But hey, four days left. So, this weekend, I hired a large car and took (most of) my clobber back to Glasgow. Bicycle, DV kit, most of my clothes, books, etc. Actually, most of what I packed seemed to be cables, which likely says more about me than I’d wish.
Now back in Leeds, I find myself sitting in a somewhat starkly minimalist lounge. I can just about stretch to a lamp, but that’s it. I rather enjoy the uncluttered feel, to be honest.
And in between, I’ve had the pleasure of a Vauxhall Vectra, which was quite the most comfortable van I think I’ve ever driven. It’s a pleasure to be wafted along motorways with such little fuss, though as usual I’m left slightly confused by such cars. If one ‘presses on’, the whole edifice comes crashing down, as the over-assisted steering passes some bizarre point of no return and goes disconcertingly light, leaving one with the distinct impression that the front wheels are sliding all over the place. So, one cruises, which is absolutely fine. Except that the (‘sporty’?) 2.2 SRi I had is so genteelly refined there’s no discernible difference between, say, 30mph and, say, 50. The dials even seem specifically designed to blur the distinction, which annoyed the hell out of me. Oh, and then there’s the agonising cramp.
There’s some odd current fashio, for having a very long clutch pedal, and a brake positioned much closer to the driver than the loud pedal. I can’t quite work out the logic here. I’m about as gangly as they come; with my left leg locked straight on the clutch, my right knee, to hit the brake, was up by my chin. But of course then, the steering wheel wants to occupy the same space as the aforementioned right knee.
The only solution I could find was to crank the seat up high (plenty of headroom, not a problem), to pull the wheel very close and high, and to press down at the pedals rather than forward. In short, to rearrange the driving position to resemble a Transit van.
Which is fine, since modern Transits are actually very good on motorways. But still… I can’t help but feel I’m missing something. Or perhaps I’m just the wrong shape for normal cars.
But now I’m bored by this crap. Enough.