Usually, when I’m away, I maintain an uninterrupted service, especially if it’s a few days. The trick is to prepare having a first draft of sorts ready for titivating, finished with a minimum of fuss.
Most of the time, the pre-prepping is wishful thinking, but I still manage to sneak a few hours in time to post on Friday at 09:00 GMT.
Not this week.
I’ve been distracted by the antics in the US and what I could/should be doing. It’s been enough to stop me thinking straight, or at least creatively.
If you’ve been reading my column for a while you’ll know I drive a Tesla Model Y. I’ve written about it before here, where you’ll also find another link to the first Chamonix trip we took in a different electric vehicle.
With Musk revealing his true revolting self now, I find myself, along with many liberal-minded Brits, caught holding the baby, to borrow a very British phrase. I’m feeling uncomfortable. The decent thing to do is get rid. If you choose to behave so outrageously, then fuck you and your Nazi bullshit Elon.
But that would also be punishing me and Mrs H.
I believed I was buying it for all the right reasons at the time. Bought with 100 miles on the clock, its resale value is now in the deepest, darkest recesses of the U-bend. Buying new has always been a mug’s game, long before titchy Tesla came along, and I knew that. But I had expectations to go long with this vehicle. Even at 200,000 miles, the loss of range is only expected to be about 15%. Many will comfortably complete 300,000 miles, and I expected to be sick of the sight of it long before it’s practically useless.
Last week, I delivered it to Tesla at Park Royal for a service, except there’s no such thing, really. They replaced the wiper blades, serviced the air con and flipped the tyres around. I paid £180 for this novel experience. It has 40,000 miles on the clock. No other charges so far apart from a set of winter tyres.
All the communication was done through the app. I didn’t see anyone when I dropped the car off, and no one on my return. I only knew someone had touched it because it was in a slightly different place. I noticed the wipers when some weather arrived.
I drove 700 miles alone last weekend, which gave me a chance to listen to a few podcasts of a financial and political nature. I wanted time to think. I still admire my Tesla and how easy it makes driving. I can’t love it anymore, although I love that the share price is now punishing Musk.
On Monday, I sold every investment that had anything to do with the US stock market, which was pretty much everything because I’m a tech enthusiast.
No more Facebook, Amazon, Google, Microsoft, Apple, Space X or Tesla. You can all fuck off, you spineless bunch of sycophants that felt it appropriate to recognise a convicted felon and rapist.
Feeling much better now, thank you.
Well said
Great analasys, Andrew! I feel your pain!