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I hate cars. Coolant, engines, clutches, you can keep it all for me. I especially hate cars when they pretend for a few fleeting moments that they will get me to my destination, and indeed get me to the top of the street and quite a way around the corner. I hate cars when, suddenly, you can’t get them in gear. At all. And you’re stuck on a main road, with York’s thousands of tourists heading in both directions all around you. And it’s pouring with rain. And you think, ah, if I just sit here and try it again in a few minutes it’ll start again. But it doesn’t. So you have to ask a passing jogger to push you off the double yellows and into a side street. And then you lock the car you hate up and walk back home, in the pissing, pouring rain. And phone your kids and tell them you can’t see them this week. I hate cars.

Oh, and two minutes later I got the letter that told me I didn’t get the job in Harrogate.

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