Why have a car at all?

Public transport seems expensive, but that’s just because people look at it in the wrong way. I drive an 11 year old BMW 528i sport, and I’ve prepared the table below to try and take the emotion out of this question.

Historical Car Costs
Variables
Petrol	per litre	£1.34
Petrol	per gallon	£5.96
MPG		28
Mileage	per month	729
Expenditure		Per month	Per Mile
Petrol	variable	£155	£0.21
Insurance	fixed	£57	£0.08
Road Tax	fixed	£18	£0.02
Parking	variable	£80	£0.11
Depreciation	fixed	£109	£0.15
Breakdown cover	fixed	£7	£0.01
Maintenance	variable	£125	£0.17
Analysis		Per month	Per Mile
Total Cost		£551	£0.76
Fixed Cost		£191	£0.26
Variable Cost		£360	£0.49

The table shows that, over the four years I’ve owned it, my car has driven an average 729 miles per month.  The car cost £6,750 and I think it’s worth about £1,500 trade in (www.webuyanycar.com says that it’s worth just £600 today!). So the fully loaded cost per month is £551, of which variable costs (maintenance, fuel and parking) come to £360 – or £0.49 per mile. How does that compare to public transport?

My daily commute from Hale to Sheffield (about 40 miles each way) on the train costs £18.70 per day – less if you buy a season ticket – or £0.47 per mile. The local bus costs £2.50 return to the airport - about £0.36 pence per mile.

Broadly, if you were to assume that I’d have the car anyway, from this sample of one, the variable cost of public transport is less than travelling by car, but not significantly so. Of course the utility of my nap and reading (and blogging) is forgotten in this analysis!

What about time? Is that not the major element of “personal utility” to consider? As it happens, it takes longer to drive to Sheffield than to go by train, so the answer there is easy. If I need to go to Liverpool (about the same distance and about the same public transport cost) the answer is also easy – it takes twice as long to go by public transport than to drive (there’s 35 miles of motorway between me an Liverpool, there’s lots of twisty, narrow roads and hills on the way to Sheffield).

If you take into account the fixed costs (like insurance) and the sunk costs (like the depreciation), then the answer changes, but not in a simple way. Sheffield is both quicker and cheaper by train than by car – no brainer. Liverpool is less clear: does the extra £35 cost on the car journey outweigh the extra two hours spent on the round trip? And anyway, is it right to take into account all the costs (even those that are sunk) in the comparison?

The fully loaded costs of travel by public transport (£0.47 per mile) compared to the fully loaded costs of car travel (historically £0.76 per mile) shows a massive cost advantage to public transport. At first sight, that looks  a fair, “apples to apples” comparison. Not so: from my point of view, the only costs that really matter are direct, future and relevant costs. What’s gone has gone. If I’m going to have a car anyway, then the only relevant costs are the variable costs of the journey, which is petrol, wear and tear, parking and the personal utility of driving compared to the train ticket and the personal utility of sitting on a train. That comparison correctly shows that the financial costs of public transport are more or less the same as using a private car. It’s the other “personal utility” items that make the difference. I could only save the fixed costs by giving up the car entirely!

I walk to the station to go to work; Sally has a car and there are almost no occasions when we are both out at different places where we both need a car. Usually with a bit of forethought, even on those few occasions we could organise lifts or drop each other off.  I could  get a taxi or a bus. In fact, I like public transport; you meet people, you can read, or sleep, or, if you get really bored, work! There’s no stress (apart from when the train’s late)  and it’s more healthy – I walk 2 miles a day just to and from the station at the ends of my train to work. So why have a car at all?

The table below shows my estimate of  the costs of keeping my car for another four years:

Car Costs - Future
Variables
Petrol	per litre	£1.34
Petrol	per gallon	£5.96
MPG		28
Mileage	per month	350
Expenditure		Per month	Per Mile
Petrol	variable	£74	£0.21
Insurance	fixed	£57	£0.16
Road Tax	fixed	£18	£0.05
Parking	variable	£5	£0.01
Depreciation	fixed	£31	£0.09
Breakdown cover	fixed	£7	£0.02
Maintenance	variable	£60	£0.17
Analysis		Per month	Per Mile
Total Cost		£252	£0.72
Fixed Cost		£113	£0.32
Variable Cost		£139	£0.40

The fully loaded cost per month will be significantly less in the future, because of reduced mileage these days and the depreciation being less in the future (the cost per mile is also reduced, but not significantly so). I can save £252 per month (as long as I don’t spend it on taxis or extra bus fares) if I give up my car.

So presented with the hard facts of the case, I can see that I could save £252 per month. Hard-headed, emotionless accountant types (who of course never buy anything just because they want it, do they?) would say take the money! But, I’ve always had a car (at least for the last 30-odd years). And I can justify keeping it: it might be the case that I need a car in the future to go to work; and the car is in good nick and I wouldn’t be able to buy one as good for anywhere near its value. But…, and…., and…so on.

You see (and you probably knew this already) when I actually face the decision, I discover that it isn’t about money, it’s about feelimgs – I like driving a silver BMW that goes far too fast; it’s a great car to drive, it goes round corners like it's on rails, the faster you go, the better it seems to like it. It’s stylish and elegant and not as butch and aggressive as the later models, and BMW drivers get a wide berth on the road (which, when you’re a driver of my quality is a good idea for all concerned)!

Who would, given the choice,  swap a really nice, somewhat worn BMW,  for a bus? As it turns out, not me!

The purple Porsche

I had a strange dream last night. I do envy those people who have dreams that make a coherent narrative – the best mine ever do is to give me scenes which could be, given sufficient creativity, merged into a story. In last night’s dream I owned a purple Porsche –  it didn’t look quite right (too angular) but I knew it was one, and it was covered in mud and parked in a railway station car park. In my dream I was going away on holiday, and I was undecided whether to leave the car where it was, or move it. Eventually, I decided to move it and felt comforted for having made the decision – I was clearly anxious about leaving it in the car park for a week. My grandfather was in the dream too, but that’s another story, I imagine.

The dream itself doesn’t matter, what I started thinking about was why was there a Porsche in my dream? I don’t think I’ve ever dreamt of a car before and I don’t think of myself as a petrol-head at all. Is it possible I’ve been mistaken all these years?

Of all the cars in the world, a Porsche is the only one I’ve ever really wanted (“wanted” is too strong, it’s more like “if money were no object, then I would like a Porsche”) …except, of course, for a really elegant 80s Mercedes 500SL cabriolet (you know the one, like Richard Gere had in “American Gigolo”). But an old car wouldn’t really be practical – would it? – a Porsche, purple or otherwise, would, wouldn’t it?

Persuading myself that lovely old cars are practical is a bad habit I’ve indulged for years: the only car that I have ever truly loved was an old Jaguar XJS 3.6 manual coupé, in “bordeaux” (to Jaguar, “burgundy” to the rest of us). So in love was I that I washed it every week, and only ever used just water – no soap. It was 10 years old when I got it (I convinced myself that such a solid piece of engineering was good for at least 200,000 miles), and it had to be practical because I needed it for work every day. I loved everything about it – the huge bonnet; the breathy, low roar of its straight six engine; the way it fitted round me; the idiosyncratic “dials”, the fact the handbrake was on the wrong side, the acceleration and the feeling of wafting along effortlessly at 100 miles an hour. I was besotted and it was, in fact, totally impractical – it needed untold litres of synthetic oil at vast expense and managed about 16 miles to the gallon; I lavished money and time on it and then, just when I had got the last piece of bodywork right, I crashed it on the A5! I was heartbroken: the next day the insurance company came and took it away and wrote it off.

My current car is a 528i BMW Sport; it’s 11 years old and still in very good nick. It was a youngster for me when I got it (only six years old). Fast though, but these days I don’t drive very fast . Better economy than the Jag, about 28 mpg (generally). Still impractical – insurance costs too much, car tax costs too much and these days 28 mpg is just pathetic (and expensive). I spend a lot of money driving a lot of metal around when there’s usually only me in it and rarely more than 2 people.

And these aren’t the only examples of petrol-hedonism in my life – I’m also admitting to a totally impractical left-hand drive Lancia β coupé, possibly the only car ever built that was more trouble than an Alpha Romeo!

Why do I, why does one, why do we, have this desire for cars that we value much more highly in our minds than their intrinsic worth? What is a Porsche anyway apart from a souped-up VW Beetle? Why not have a rock solid Golf instead or a Polo or even a Nissan Micra?; it’s as cute as a cute thing, fun to drive and manages about 50mpg, costs almost nothing to insure and almost no car tax.  In practice, given the speed limit, these cars are of no less intrinsic worth than a Porsche; worth more in fact if you have more luggage than a toothbrush and a change of underwear!

Or better yet (heresy warning!), why have a car at all?

Skiathos–The End

Well, it’s over for another year, I’ve even actually gone back to work.

As it turns out the holiday on Skiathos was just lovely.

We went every day to the beach – a lovely quiet pretty beach, and swam in the sea. The tradition on the beach is that people build little shelters to protect from the wind and the mid-day heat, and then leave them for the next occupants. Our shelter was a real work of civil engineering, with walls and a partial roof. We stayed in there and sunbathed, and it kept us cool (well, cool-ish). Our contribution to the structure was to build a seat in front, which is ideal for sitting and reading, or just sitting and putting your shoes on.

We went out for dinner and lunch everyday, went to do a bit of shopping (we didn’t manage to buy much), and went to the open-air cinema once  - that was it. We still managed to come back entirely spent up, which just shows that it was a great holiday.

 

Skiathos 2011 VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Greece has become very expensive. You only get  about 1 euro to the pound at tourist rates (in fact the rate in Skiathos was better than the rate in the UK), which makes a 25 euro lunch quite expensive – never mind - you’re not paying for the lunch you’re paying for the sunshine! And the sun did shine, all day, every day.

I remember the first time Sally and I went to Greece, in 1979 to Corfu; the holiday was quite expensive (£400 each for a fortnight, before the days of cheap air travel), but it was extremely cheap when you got there.

In those days, everything was less internationalised, so buying food was a bit of an adventure. We got our vegetables and fruit from and old man who seemed to be selling things from his own (very small) house. I never saw him wear anything but a vest. He would offer a slice of tomato for you to try before you bought. (This way of doing things was topped a couple of years later when we went to Crete, where the man selling vegetables insisted in offering glasses of raki whenever I went to buy spuds!)

We went into Corfu town on the bus, still with no Greek, but having worked out that “ΣΤΑΣΙΣ” meant “bus stop”, we were able to get about We saw the place where the Duke of Edinburgh was born and the Corfu cricket pitch. The woman who ran the local bar didn’t speak English at all (now, they all do) so buying things was a bit hit and miss. Fortunately, there was a Londoner of Cypriot descent staying who was able to translate for us in the bar at least. We had a major issue buying meat – which looked altogether too meat-like for our refined western tastes – but we got buy.

I remember the smells and the crickets and how dark it was without street lights. The houses all seemed unfinished (it’s to do with the Greek National Sport – avoiding taxes!). There was an Orthodox monastery on a causeway that you could only visit if you were properly dressed (Sally couldn’t get in in her shorts!); and I remember a small island (which I think is called “Pontikinissi”, which I think means “Mouse Island”) .

And you know what, we had a lovely time then, and we had a lovely time this time, just 32 years later.

Skiathos

At last, holiday. Day two today.
The last week before going on holiday is always really fraught. It seems that there is always a crisis of some sort which just adds to the stress of going away: getting last minute things done, packing, downloading films and podcasts. Sally gets everything else done: sorting out her Mum, tidying everything away, bringing Dom’s things back from his shared h0use. Last week we went to Wimbledon and picked stuff up from Pat’s flat in London ready for him coming home. Busier than ever.

Anyway, somehow, we get away without any alarms. When we get to the airport Sally remembers that we hadn’t left a key for Matt to get in with! Luckily, we only live ten minutes drive from the airport; I jumped in a taxi and went to leave a key. No problems.

Of course there’s the irritation and indignity of security (I always think that they’re closing the door after the horse has bolted). Quick coffee and then on the aeroplane. Three and a half hours later we’re there!
If you haven’t been to Skiathos then you won’t know that its a small Greek island, just off the coast of Evvia, which is itself a big Greek island just off the mainland. You can get a ferry and a bus from Evvia to Athens in a couple of hours, so that should give you some idea of the geography – or I could just give you a map, but intrepid nineteenth century explorers didn’t have maps (or the internet) and had to rely on the powers of description, so why should my life be any easier?
Just at this moment I feel very 1920’s sitting in the shade typing away at yet another opus – if I still drank I could believe myself Papa Hemingway knocking out his 250 word a day on a Caribbean island before going to hunt something, or Scott Fitzgerald writing bad screenplays on the beach at Santa Barbara.

Skiathos is a beautiful island. It has a permanent population of about 6,000 people and is only 15km at its widest point. It’s covered in cool pine forest. Its most famous person is a writer, Alexandros Papadiamantis – never heard of him? Well he’s got a museum and an airport named after him – which seems to put him on a par with John Lennon and JFK, except he wasn’t shot.

Where we are, in the “resort” of Koukounaries it can’t be more than a mile or so north to south. Koukounaries is on the south coast, and the beach we favour is on the north. I say “resort” because Koukounaries consists of one bus stop, two or three hotels, some holiday apartments, four restaurants, two little supermarkets, a car hire place and a beach.

We arrived without incident. The apartment is really nice and has air conditioning (which means I’m a little too cold most of the time I’m indoors). On the first evening, we bought a bit of food and sat at the pool and then went to dinner, watched a film (“Never Let Me Go”, from the book by Kazuo Ishiguro  - recommended) and slept 10 hours!

Yesterday, a walk through the pine forest to Elias Mandraki beach, 5 hours in the sun around lunch and a nap in the café, dinner  (ate too much) another movie (“Festen”, a danish film – the first film I’ve ever seen certified to be compliant with the principles of Dogme 95 – another highly recommended film!).
It seems, however careful you are, you can’t escape sunburn on the first day – this year it’s my left thigh and knee and a bit on the back of my left shoulder. Had  a lot worse: in the olden days sun cream started at factor 2 and went up to 8, maybe 12. Factor 2 must now be illegal, at least you don’t see it on sale anymore, and seems to start at 10 and go up to 60!
So a day in the shade for me and blogging today! So far, so good!