Power!

Once upon a time, cars were built with a sense of honesty. Take the humble cigarette lighter socket. It didn’t faff about with “protocols” or “smart charging.” It just opened its maw and spat out 12 volts at up to 15 amps. That’s 120 to 180 watts of pure, unadulterated juice – enough to run a kettle, an inverter, or power an entire town from the lighter of a Mini. Picture it: Christmas lights blazing, the bingo hall in full swing, chip fryers sizzling – all courtesy of a socket designed for warming up a roll-up.

Fast forward to today’s gleaming wonders of modern motoring and what do we get? A USB port tucked somewhere near the gear lever, barely able to summon half an amp at 5 volts. That’s 2.5 watts – the charging equivalent of a dribbling tap. Some are a bit better, grudgingly coughing up 5 or 10 watts, and the latest cars boast about “USB-C PD” like it’s the cure for scurvy. But even then, they can’t match the old socket with a £10 adapter shoved in.

And the result? Your satnav app is slurping down power faster than the car can provide it. Spotify’s running in the background, Waze is squawking at you to take the next exit, and your phone is slowly dying in the cupholder. That USB port isn’t charging – it’s engaged in a genteel negotiation with your phone. “Now, don’t get greedy, here’s half an amp. That should keep you limping on until Swindon.”

Manufacturers call this progress. Progress! No, it’s penny-pinching in a shiny plastic frock. They’ve given us charging ports weaker than a pensioner’s handshake, and we’re expected to applaud. “Look – two ports! In the back, too!” As if that’s some breakthrough on par with the space programme. Try plugging in, though, and you discover they’re as much use as a chocolate teapot in a sauna.

Give me the old cigarette lighter any day. It was crude, it was ugly, and it was brutally effective. It said: “Here’s 12 volts straight from the bowels of the alternator, lad – do with it what you will.” No fuss, no slow-motion trickle, no dying phone on the motorway. Just power on demand, enough to fry your fingers if you weren’t careful.

So here’s the irony: in an age where we can summon cars that park themselves and dashboards that look like NASA control panels, the one thing we can’t do is keep a phone alive from Bristol to Birmingham. The future isn’t fast – it’s flat.