7 February - A frosty response
Venturing into the subject of electric cars is always guaranteed to provoke more feedback than a Cabinet
meeting and yesterday was no exception.
From petrol heads to greenies readers had something to say. I am neither of those things and if
someone’s life ambition is to drive on diesel until the last oil well dries up
that is their business, I almost said “it’s a free country” like kids would say
defiantly 70 years ago, but of course it isn’t free anymore.
I was told that only a chump would buy into first generation electric cars to which I
might reply, mine is at least second generation and at the end of one’s eighth
decade on this earth there is not a huge incentive to wait for the next big thing.
Blow the lot, you can’t take it with you!
But
I missed another advantage of driving electric. We all woke up this morning to a heavy frost and on my early walk
along Abbey Road and return via Fendyke Road there were people out with scrapers.
Boxing Day 2018 in darkest Hampshire I found my car heavily frosted. The heater switch was flicked
and just over a minute later every window was clear. No scraping, no waiting for
the engine to warm up, just summon the power of 20 three bar electric fires.
I wasn’t the only one.
It’s both an advantage and a disadvantage. Combustion engines waste oodles of
heat all the time while electric ones require extra power to generate heat. From
a heat pump on all but the cheapest cars so pretty efficient but either way it is a small additional cost
which will reduce range somewhat.
Best of all you can use a phone app to begin to heat an electric car while
having your breakfast. No need to go out in the cold to start the engine and risk attracting a thief.
Yesterday I met an old friend in Bexleyheath and afterwards we needed to get to
Bexley Village where she lives. “Shall we walk” she said brightly and the very
long way around too. Along Townley Road and Bridgen/Parkhill Roads. I soon
learned why I had been invited. It was to carry her shopping and buy a coffee in the village.
Fortunately another friend offered to drive me home in his year old Vauxhall
rather than get a 229 and maybe swap to a 301 at the Clock Tower. He went the long way around
too, Blackfen, Welling, Plumstead all to avoid the Mayplace Road gridlock.
It reminded me of why I wouldn’t ever go back to petrol. He drove it perfectly
well but all that noise and farting about with power interrupting gear changes every
few minutes made for a far less smooth ride. No thank you. At least I wasnֹ’t a pedestrian soaking up his exhaust fumes.