I’ll keep this short. It’s Sunday and nobodywillreadme anyway.

If you think I’m a stroppy sod, you need to meet my elder bro. He’s the Zen master of strop, a 10th Dan.

He’s retired now, but used to make his living as a minicab driver. Sorry, driving a vehicle for private hire. He had a fairly aged but reliable and safe car. He maintained it himself, was meticulous about it, and as he pointed out didn’t really want to reach the end of his days being burned alive in a clapped out death trap.

Some genius on the licensing body of the local council decided that old cars were inherently unsafe cars, and came up with a ruling that no minicab could ply for business if it had an MOT certificate. In the UK, this means the yearly certificate that has to be issued after an official test, once the vehicle has achieved the ripe old age of three years.

Being a bolshie git, my bro wrote and asked about the ruling, and was told it was a safety issue, the end, no argument. Unfortunately for the council, my bro’s like me. The concept of no argument doesn’t equate*.

He went nuclear on this, truly medieval on its ass. He did a lot of research about the age of vehicles that had been recalled over known safety problems. Not surprisingly, the vast majority of the recalls affected new cars, under three years of age.. The manufacturers haven’t got all the bugs sorted out in new metal, and older cars have generally been fixed if there are underlying issues.

He forced an extraordinary meeting of the licensing committee, and gave the members pretty short shrift about their stupidity. The ruling was quietly shelved.

*My bro once, legendarily, was sitting a maths exam and was required to factorise a number. He’s no thicko by a long shot, but on this occasion drew a blank. His written answer? ‘This will not factorise.’ Gotta admire him.