I don’t drive anymore. I don’t need to. I’ve got immigrants to do that for me.

Also I’m not allowed to, ever since the bloody nanny state confiscated my license for driving drunk up State Highway 2.

That’s nonsense. I don’t drink anymore. Two bottles of red a day, not enough to get me drunk.

But this is the way things are today. The coddlers and the moralisers who we made fun of in the 80s for wearing brown shoes and growing hair on their faces own us now. They dictate every bloody thing we do. We’ve all gone mad, and those of us who aren’t totally emasculated are asked to humiliate ourselves and take childish precautions in the name of safety.

She was a woman, of course. The woman who took my license. They always are. I’d like to see her drive.

Even if I had been drunk, what does it matter? I could still see.

They think we’re children, these people; nothing but grown-up children who can’t handle a vehicle after just three bottles of Johnnie Walker Black.

It’s all immaterial, of course. I’m glad I can’t drive anymore. In Wellington, you get places faster on foot, even at my age. And I’ll tell you one thing that’s not making it any easier: ambulances.

Who do these bloody ambulances think they are, screaming up and down the road, making a hell of a noise, and getting in the way of traffic? What makes them so entitled? We’ve all got somewhere to be. I’ve got to be in Aspen in 6 hours, and this flight attendant is threatening to turn back the plane if I don’t stop smoking my pipe and putting it out on the kid next to me.

If ambulances want to use the road they should have to obey the rules like the rest of us, and all these people pulling over for them are just encouraging them.

I’ve never pulled over for an ambulance, and if they try that on me, I make sure to block them. The light is red. Just bloody wait.

I’ve heard people suggest that we need ambulances to do this, but I can’t for the life of me see why.

I’ve never needed an ambulance, and I suspect people do don’t deserve one. If I ever injure myself, bring me a bottle of Sherry before you do me the indignity of calling me an ambulance.

If you’ve ever called for an ambulance, you should be ashamed of yourself. If you can’t just get on with it, you might as well just die anyway, and good bloody riddance to the lot of you.