Cruise control sorts out multitudes of sins. Just push that button in the middle of the steering wheel and you’re locked in, the engine surging and declining with the rise and fall of the road, the long stretches of nothingness between places is filled with the yawn of the radio or the Personal development guru you’re listening to on that day. Yeah it’s great if you’ve got it, but if you don’t it’s so easy to start thinking about some topic and letting your mind walk away from the wheel, playing over some concept or idea and you look down to see that needle at ten over the limit. TEN!, they’ll get you for that. It’s only 3 percent tolerance on speed cameras, on anything these days a three precent limit – what if there was a three percent limit in a relationship? Excuse me partner your behaviour is three percent over the tolerable limit and I am issuing you with a fine – no wouldn’t work at all.

So you’re locked in there behind the wheel, like you’re in a tomb or are a mummy in an Egyptian pyramid, zoned out focusing on the car ahead watching it’s tail lights wag, keeping your distance- maintain a barrier of at least three percent – three percent of what? The monotony is broken by changing lanes. You’ve raced up behind someone wearing a hat , probably headed back for the farm. They’re plodding along and you swing out over the white lines that Ker-lunka as you pass over them. There’s an occasional percussive explosion as you murder a cats-eye. You know it ‘ll still be winking for the next car body that rolls over it, so it’s care factor ZERO. The accelerator fights against you and the motor surges and you’re past. The indicator blinks and asks questions of the left lane as you slot back into place – as if nothing has happened. The radio still sighs the same tune and you become hypntoised by the rhythm of the afternoon, just keep on going , don’t break it keep going at the speed limit, but the needle starts to…..