Customarily Sunday is devoted to a drive about the countryside, a reflection of the effulgence of rural residence. We have unwittingly adopted the idée fixe of the parochial mind. Though rainy weather is not an encouragement, neither does a trace of splatter impede the constitutional endeavour. In any event, for me the imperative is simply being behind the wheel, streaming along the smooth open highways, privately relishing the click of the mechanics, the squish of the parallel tires upon the shiny black road, and the interior impressions of the radio, the windshield wipers and multiple other operative functions illustrated on the dashboard.
