Generally speaking, I habitually have a fair level of indifference to anything with four wheels.
No wheels and it could be a boat and you have me, totally. And that should come as no surprise here.
One wheel, and it could be a glider. I may have found the sea before I found the sky, and the sea may still hold me for now, but we had a love affair, one for which I remain unapologetic and to which I am committed one day to return. When either the sea releases me, or the opportunity of more time finally presents.
Two wheels and, despite the fact I'll probably never ride one again, it's a motorbike. And I do still truly miss riding the dangerous, lethal, crazy things. And the excuse to wear black leather.
Three wheels and it could be the undercarriage of an aircraft. So you still have me; even if it has an engine, it still flies, and flight is, in any form, poetry.
But four wheels? It's just a car. A tool I use to get from A to B, a tool that makes all the other interesting things possible when you get there. But still just a tool.
A boat, a glider or a motorbike is, for me at least, all about the journey and not so much the destination. A car patently is not.
I collect my next car at 1700 this afternoon. And I find that, despite myself, I am actually excited.
I guess it's been a long time since I last had a blue one.