So by 2035 I’ve got to get rid of my motor and replace it with a doobrey that has the horsepower of a hairdryer and needs to be plugged into the mains for any journey that lasts longer than nipping down to the curry house for a ruby.
I mean, we may be able to walk about sucking in air like guppy fish ’cos it’s as fresh as a basket of laundry doused in Febreze, but we’ll all be Hank Marvin as the shops will be boracic.
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