Despite having the run of the Autocar test garage and the general aggro and financial burden that come with owning a 20-year-old car, I keep a slightly scabby Mini Cooper S around.
Part of the reason is practical and deontological: it’s always there for a run to Heathrow, and for an objective reviewer it’s rather questionable to be wholly reliant on press cars for transport.
But a large part of why I still love my Mini is that, despite being somewhat modern (it has airbags and stability control), it’s pretty analogue. It ensures that I don’t forget how clutch control and heel-and-toe downshifts work and it has no digital screens to speak of.
Okay, there’s one of those low-tech segmented LCD displays for the mileage and MPG readout, but that’s it. In its own way, it’s an oasis of calm.
When I’m not driving, I’m like many people in that I spend much of my day staring at a screen. They’re useful things: I wouldn’t know where I’d be without Google Maps on my phone and I’d get some weird looks if I filed copy for the magazine written on a typewriter.
But the glare, the colours and the elaborate graphics do cause a good deal of fatigue and general sensory overload.
Despite the intergalactic mileages that I cover every week, driving is still an escape for me, a moment of zen. Sure, sat-nav is useful, but sometimes I actually know where I’m going and just want to concentrate on the driving.
All I need is a rev counter and speedo needle, and I can do without some cartoon fox dancing in my peripheral vision (I’m looking at you, Smart #1).
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