Four heaven's sake
Above: Banish the tractors, says Tyler
I am not an eco-warrior. In fact I am embarrassed to admit I am not even a reservist eco-squaddie. I do not recycle my rubbish, use energy-saving light bulbs or turn the tap off when I brush my teeth. And furthermore, if and when I do drink a glass of bottled water beneath a patio heater, I do not believe it will turn the Cotswolds into the Gobi desert.
And so when I say I hate 4x4s it is not an ecological moan. It has nothing to do with whether or not the ugly wheeled boxes are the reason for daffodils blooming in January.
Furthermore my beef is not so much with the machines as the drivers. And before every camouflaged gamekeeper and baling twine farmer gets onto my case, let me make it clear that even then it is only some drivers I object to.
Despite the frequently-voiced urban view that the Cotswolds is nothing more than a Charbonnel et Walker box of sugary cottages filled with a confection of rich capitalists there is a strong agricultural culture in these hills. And those whose hands are horny (and I include the more nether-region-driven Royal Agriculture College students among them) need a vehicle that will take them from sheep to sheep without the necessity of muddying their gumboots. Their 4x4 conveyance is their working tool, and as long as it is treated as such, good luck to them and their ‘Hunt On’ bumper stickers.
It is those whose 4x4s are a life-style accessory – part of the rural weekend package that includes a chrome-trimmed AGA, Gore-Tex shooting jacket and Nespresso coffee machine – that are not so sufferable. They use their fat combustion engines to bully through the lanes with all the subtlety of a fois gras sandwich stuffed down an agricultural labourer’s throat.
When a weekender’s Chelsea Tractor braces a feebler car for example, it stands its ground. The shiny all-terrain conveyance may be capable of shinning up Everest but that does not mean the expensive beast is prepared to motor onto a grassy verge. The country code, as far as it is concerned, is not which vehicle is the more capable of pulling into the side but which of the two is humbler.
This 4x4 arrogance is particularly prevalent in the Cirencester Waitrose car park. It is, says a two-wheel-drive brother in arms, like fighting an Amazonian enemy in armour-plated Hummers in Helmand Province. The dyed blonde combatants in their cashmere uniform ignore white lines, arrows and parking restrictions as they wheel their clumsy chariots as close to the superstore entrance as is humanely possible.
It is mysterious why anyone would want to drive a huge 4x4 around the Cotswolds in the first place. Not only are they absurdly large and expensive to run, they are also awkward to negotiate in the narrow lanes. A cheap city run-about is nippier, more practical and less out of place.
Many years ago my cousin Tony Ball moved from London to Devon taking his much-loved Bentley R-type with him. After a year in the West Country he sold it. It was not the scratches on the bodywork or the narrowness of the lanes that forced him to sell it, he told me, but the fact that he ‘looked like a damn fool driving it.’
And he was right. The place for powerful shiny cars, including today’s prestige 4x4s, is not the Cotswolds but the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea.
In town the Chelsea Tractor belongs, as its name suggests, in Chelsea. Its muscular exterior is perfect for pushing through the thick traffic while its interior is a luxurious oasis of safety, clean air and quiet in the hurly-burly of a sometimes rough and dirty city. The tough suspension tackles speed bumps and kerbs while the four-wheel drive facility helps to nudge the car into tight parking spaces. And most importantly, the prestigious marques of 4x4s bestow a social status on the driver that is important in town where first impressions matter, but is irrelevant in the country where they do not.
Bizarrely, the Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, has called the drivers of 4x4s ‘idiots’ and plans to charge all those who drive them around the capital £25 a day. His feeble excuse for doing so is that the cars pollute the atmosphere. A far more likely reason for his draconian measures is that, like me, he can’t bear the 4x4 as a lifestyle statement.
However, if Ken can fine the Chelsea Tractor for existing in its natural habitat, then it seems to me that there is no reason why, when the beasts roam here, that with some honourable exceptions, Cotswold District Council should not follow suit.