Me and my motor vehicles

I will never again drive a car. Well, I may if I absolutely need to, but I'd prefer not to, because recently I haven't felt confident driving. My vision is deteriorating, even though my optician says I can still drive legally. I sometimes panic when I drive to unfamiliar places. I remember clearly that driving was once relaxing and a pleasure. Now it is a source of anxiety.

In any case, I will never again own a car. I wish I could say that I am doing it for ecological reasons, but I must be honest: it just so happens. I am in the process of further displacement, and it is a good moment to get rid of the car.

Owning a car was unimaginable when I was young. I remember dreaming that I was driving, like other people dream that they are flying. Cars were beyond reach for most people when and where I grew up, but when I was in my early twenties, they became more affordable so my parents decided it was time to buy one and therefore get a driver licence. They suggested I should take driving lessons together with them. I asked my father: “Will you let me borrow your car every now and then?” and he said, without hesitation: “Of course not”, and that decided it. What's the point of having a licence if you can never hope to own a car?

My mother crashed the very first time she went driving in her own and never sat in a driver seat afterwards. My father was a nervous driver; he would talk to himself all the time, planning to take over or change lanes.

In Sweden, I didn't start taking driving lessons at once because there were so many things I had to master first. When I did start, I was hopeless. My instructor would say: “You think too much. Stop thinking, just do it”. I failed my driving test four times because I had panic attacks and did really stupid things. The fifth time, my instructor's wife… no, I probably shouldn't say what she did. The day after we went to the USA, I drove an automatic car and knew I would never want a manual stick. I can do it, but why torture yourself when life can be much easier? All my cars since then have been automatic.

By the way, it was unusual for a family in Sweden to have two cars, but my husband was much for equality. Two offices, two computers, two cars.

All my cars were used, but in good shape. I drove a lot at one time, teaching and lecturing in far away places. I drove to work because it was convenient. We were not too ecologically minded then. I had lots of visitors whom I liked to show Sweden. Every winter we drove to the mountains for skiing.

When I had my Fulbright in Amherst, Massachusetts, I first thought I wouldn't need a car – I lived two blocks from the campus. But it being the USA, you needed a car to get your groceries, and you needed a car to get anywhere you had to, and there were so many places and people around Amherst I wanted to visit. So it took me whole four days to get a car, a little Ford. It gave me the freedom I needed. I drove it to Boston and New York and Philadelphia and all the way up to New Brunswick in Canada. I drove it to Bradley airport every time I flew to a conference. I sold it when my time in Amherst was over – it had served me well.

Then I had a series of SAABs in Sweden; we kept to the principle of trading cars as soon as they started costing too much in repairs. I had cars of fancy colours – I think one was eucalyptus. The car had names, usually based on the licence plates. DVK was Dvořák, MPS was Mopsa, UNB was Unbegaun. Obviously, some were male and some female.

One car was stolen under very strange circumstances. Our oldest son borrowed it when they were expecting a baby, and when it happened, they parked the car in the hospital parking lot. I was in Finland with another car, and when I came back, it turned out that the car at the hospital had been stolen by an elegantly clothed woman in her forties who crashed it and walked away. I was called to a police station for interrogation. The female police officer tried to make me confess to the following scenario: I returned from Finland on a ferry having been drinking all night, drove the car home, took myself to hospital at the opposite side of the city in some manner, did not go up to see my newborn grandson, took the parked car, smashed it, walked away and taught a class within the next hour. The mystery was never solved.

In California I had a Lumina, but for our cross-continent road trip we drove an Oldsmobile that got smashed in Yellowstone, and we had to sell it very cheap somewhere close to JFK where we were taking a flight back to Sweden.

More SAABs. One perished in a bad accident with my daughter involved. She called us thinking we would be angry. I was of course anxious about whether she was ok. A car is just a thing.

My current car, my very last one, my faithful friend, is fifteen years old – it's the longest I've owned a car. My husband drove it over from Sweden, and we had to change the panel and the head lights for driving on the wrong side. There are only two disadvantageous situations when driving a continental car in the UK: getting into a parking lot and merging into a motorway. Everything else you get used to quickly. Although sometimes you get funny looks from people who see that the driver seat is empty.

I haven't driven a lot here, mostly to work, but also on some longer excursions to Norfolk and Kent. After annual service I ask the garage people whether the car is still doing fine, and it is.

But the time had come. The question is: who wants a continental car in the UK? Answer: someone used to driving a continental car, particularly an automatic one.

I must admit: I should have done all this earlier, but there have been many other things I had to do. I thought I had full control over annual service, tax and insurance, but I missed the tax by two weeks because the reminder went to my old address. Since I am selling the car, the easiest option was not to renew the tax, which is as complicated as everything else in the UK because it goes back to some obscure 13^th-century law. So my four-wheeled friend is now SORNed which means taken off the road. It also turned out that an important paper was missing, necessary to transfer the car to the new owner. I don't think I have ever seen this paper. But because of that 13^th-century law I cannot simply go online, fill the form and print it out. I had to call and order it, and it will be sent by post. The nice lady on the phone told me that my car was untaxed. I assured her I was aware of it. She warned me I shouldn't drive an untaxed car. I promised her I wouldn't.

So when I move away from Cambridge in just a few days I will be leaving behind a faithful servant that came with me from Sweden and has been such a good companion. It is a minor loss among all my other disasters, but still I cannot help feeling a bit sad.