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I never really wanted to learn to drive. I certainly never wanted to become a car-dependent commuter, but here we are, in the Northern Powerhouse, with not many options.
I could try and traverse the vast distance from my house to work (33 miles) using public transport, but – by train and/or bus – I would never make it in for 9am. If I walk very briskly from home and step straight onto the first morning train and it’s on time and I then dash across to the bus station at the other end and catch the very first service leaving after my train arrives, I might just about complete the journey in under two hours, and be at work by ten past nine. Still, it’s not as if I live in a city home to northern England’s sixth busiest train interchange, and work at a major employer in the fourth largest city in Yorkshire*.
I never really wanted to learn to drive. I certainly never wanted to become a car-dependent commuter, but here we are, in the Northern Powerhouse, with not many options.
I could try and traverse the vast distance from my house to work (33 miles) using public transport, but – by train and/or bus – I would never make it in for 9am. If I walk very briskly from home and step straight onto the first morning train and it’s on time and I then dash across to the bus station at the other end and catch the very first service leaving after my train arrives, I might just about complete the journey in under two hours, and be at work by ten past nine. Still, it’s not as if I live in a city home to northern England’s sixth busiest train interchange, and work at a major employer in the fourth largest city in Yorkshire*.
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| Northern Power House |
So, I get in the car every morning and trundle my way
across the desolate north, typically an hour and a quarter each way, and the
miles add up and up, and the fossil fuels combust, and the time disappears. Even
making a fairly conservative calculation, I now spend about 16 days a year
sitting in a compact hatchback travelling at 32 mph on a mostly horizontal
Yorkshire A-road. It’s as thrilling as it sounds.
There are upsides.
I’ve become a radio head, and discovered just how many good programmes there
are on Radio 4 – Great Lives, A Good Read, In Our Time, Word of Mouth, and of course Desert Island Discs with the magnificent Kirsty Young –
and how marvellous Simon Mayo is on Radio 2 Drivetime. I also love the view of
the Vale of York from the crest of Arras Hill
above Market Weighton, though I’m disappointed the ‘Warning: Pedestrians’ road
signs on the subsequent Giant Bradley Way aren’t based on this image:
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| The Yorkshire Giant |
Driver-commuting hasn’t made me a better person, though. I
am (arguably) a better driver than I was before, but I am also now a less tolerant individual. The more time I spend alone in my car
on a repetitive journey, the more misanthropic I get**. Obviously it doesn’t help
that, over the last couple of years, my car radio news coverage has poured out a relentless
shower of shits. It cannot be good for my health
(indeed, it isn’t).
Consequently, although one can but wonder whether they will materialize before I retire (and whether that precedes the electrification of East Yorkshire rail lines), I really can't wait for driverless cars.
Consequently, although one can but wonder whether they will materialize before I retire (and whether that precedes the electrification of East Yorkshire rail lines), I really can't wait for driverless cars.
*I actually calculated that, using the same public transport
options, I could get from my house to the London university where my brother
works in only a few minutes longer. This is 173 miles from my home. Us heathen
northern folks can travel five times faster north-south than west-east; thank
cripes the Westminster power-brokers are finally getting on with speeding up
the north-south routes.
**Just ask my friends and loved ones about #TIBS.
**Just ask my friends and loved ones about #TIBS.
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