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I‘m all for a return to the heady days of protest. Of people marching in the streets, of cars burning, of shop windows being smashed, of what Malcolm McLaren would call ‘magic happening’.
I’m bloody sick of them and I want a stop to it. Now.
The very sagacious Ken Livingstone has introduced fines to keep the bloody things off inner-London roads, the Mayor of Paris wanted to do the same thing but bowed to pressure, the heart-stoppingly beautiful and historic Florence in Italy has sensibly banned them — we should do the same here.
What am I ranting about?
4×4s, four-wheel drives, ‘people movers’ as their lovers would have them. ‘Bloody monstrosities that everyone else hates’ is what I call them. I have no problem with ‘people movers’ — I see mums driving kids to school in the ubiquitous and superbly designed Toyota Tarago and its mimics. No problem there. But the rest of the ‘higher than the average saloon car’ bunch?
Get stuck behind one and you can’t see past it; they leave you no space to get out of your own car if they park next to you in car parks (ever notice how car delineated parking spots are getting smaller so that they can fit more cars in?).
There was a time, gentle reader, when civil disobedience ran to the sort of protests I mentioned in my first paragraph. I amble through my weary mind back to the Poll Tax riots in Britain, to the Parisian protests in the late 1960s, to the Vietnam protests here and in the US in the 1970s, to the anti-Iraq ‘war’ in recent times.
For decades we have lamented about but put up with these ‘Toorak Tractors’ — the Prados, the Pajeros, the Land Cruisers, the Rav 4s, the Hiluxes, the Vitaras, the Land Rovers, the fake Jeeps (they were designed for WWII for goodness sake – what relevance do they have to 21st century suburbia?), the Range Rovers, the Challengers, the Porsche and BMW and Mercedes ’soft roaders’ — all driven by people who’s closest proximity to ‘off roading’ is the speed humps in the local Waitrose, Tescos, Asda, Coles, Woolworths, Walmart, Kmart, Target or [name your favourite mega] supermarket.
No dirt is seen on these monstrous vehicles, no wear and tear other than the ferrying of their precious Harrys and Hermiones to their various cosseted primary schools.
I live in the hills region of Adelaide and daily travel with folks whose livelihood depends on the abilities of ‘true’ four wheel drive vehicles to ‘deliver the goods’. With these folk I have no axe to grind.
Equally I know of several suburbanites whose weekend pleasures include getting ‘off road’ dirty and dusty. They, too, are exempt from my wrath.
But for the suburbanites whose vision-obscuring, car park hogging, slow moving, fuel guzzling tanks are nothing more than penis extension kits for those who cannot afford a Porsche 911, I spit on you.
Bring back anarchy, bring back revolution. Encourage your teenage son to ‘tag’ them with spray paint, or ‘key’ them. Drive the insurance policies up and the numbers on the road down. These nuisances do nothing to aid the economy except to make Bazza and Shazza feel secure that their little Bazzettes and Shazzettes are ’safe’. Oh, really? …they crumple just as easily as any other car in a prang.
Here in the 21st century west we are too bloody complacent, too ‘nice’, too accommodating, too meek and mild. Let us rise up against these obvious signs of male insecurity and say, “Be gone! Let us have clear vision and fast moving traffic once more on our roads!”
My only joy in the petrol price-rise-upon-rise-upon-rise is watching the numbers of petrol guzzling 4×4s sitting at the side of the road with pathetic hand drawn ‘For Sale’ signs on the windows. Serves the stupid mongrel owners right.
Currently playing: Anouar Brahem – Le Pas Du Chat Noir – Déjà La Nuit
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