Okay, so you can tell I'm not one for making pithy comments. Honestly, if I could just get by on public transport and the self-propelled power of my own two feet, I would. Driving just causes me too much grief. It exacerbates my (imagined) peptic ulcers. I have, in my hands, a one ton missile travelling at 40 miles per hour that can break open your skull or rupture your spleen if you are unlucky enough to have me run my car into you. I worry about not getting in the way of other road users. I fret about stalling the car on a slope and making people wait. Or worse still, have people drive around me as I stall and re-stall the engine for the nth time. Yes, this has happened. Twice. But for my defence, I haven't driven a manual car since I passed my driving test 9 years ago, so I could be forgiven formaking a mess of it. Thankfully, the Brits are not one for keeping a metal wrench in their car boot for beating the crap out of lousy drivers. Which is what all this boils down to. I