I did it! I drove on a road! Not a car park, not a simulator, but a bona fide road, with kerbs and cars and all. I didn’t even hit either the kerbs or the cars. Spent my time starting, stopping, changing gears, turning and memorising various acronyms. POM and MSPSL and so forth. My driver isn’t an effusive chap, but I think I was great!
Which got me thinking. Every now and then I like to pick a theme relevant to my everyday life, and see what books we can think of, together. It won’t surprise you that today’s theme is driving. Hmm… where, in the vast and varied world of literature, has an author decided to pick driving as the central issue? Where are cars or vans or caravans or cars-with-trailers-on-single-carriageways (I need to know the speed limit for such, probably in wind, rain, earthquake and on days with an ‘e’ in them)?
I must confess, my head must be spinning a bit from motorised toing and froing. All I’ve come up with are Wind in The Willows and the old poop pooping of Toad; I presume The Caravanners by Elizabeth von Arnim has some of said vehicle in, though I wouldn’t stake my life on’t. Thomas De Quincey wrote an odd little bit of prose called The English Mail Coach, which came in handy for my essay on travel and the Romantic Imagination. Not really motorised. Come on, I clearly need your help – so get thinking, and let me know!