Mobile Phone's and Cars

The rapper, Stormzy, has been banned from driving while using a mobile phone in a car.

The modern car interior has become a strange paradox. On the one hand, drivers are legally prohibited from even brushing a finger against a mobile phone while the vehicle is in motion – and rightly so, given the dangers of distracted driving. On the other, car manufacturers are churning out vehicles with dashboard screens that require a level of attention better suited to solving a Rubik’s Cube than safely operating a motor vehicle.

 

Gone are the days when adjusting the heating or switching radio stations involved a quick twist of a knob or press of a button. Now, drivers must navigate through menus, submenus, and a bewildering array of touchscreen options just to raise the cabin temperature by a single degree. Worse still, these screens are often poorly designed, requiring pinpoint accuracy and multiple taps. If you miss, you might accidentally turn on the heated seats instead of increasing the airflow – a minor inconvenience at a standstill, but potentially disastrous while doing 70 on a motorway.

The inconsistency is laughable. Lawmakers are eager to condemn mobile phone use because it takes eyes off the road, yet these built-in infotainment systems are essentially tablets welded into the dashboard. Some even offer full internet browsing capability, as though binge-watching a series on Netflix was the logical next step for the morning commute. The cognitive load involved in using these systems is far greater than that of sending a text message, yet they're exempt from the same scrutiny.

There’s also the matter of muscle memory. With traditional knobs and dials, a driver could adjust settings by feel, without needing to glance away. Screens, however, demand visual confirmation for every interaction. You’re forced to look away from the road, even briefly, just to ensure you’ve pressed the right spot. It’s ironic that in a world obsessed with reducing distractions, car interiors have become a distraction factory.

Proponents might argue that many systems now include voice control, eliminating the need to use touchscreens altogether. In reality, these systems often misunderstand commands or require such rigid phrasing that drivers end up repeating themselves in frustration. By the time you’ve successfully convinced your car to “play BBC Radio 4,” you might have been better off fumbling through the menus after all.

The solution isn’t to ban these systems outright; they’re undoubtedly useful when used responsibly. But there’s a clear need for better regulation and design standards. Cars should prioritise simplicity and ergonomics over flashy tech. Essential functions – heating, ventilation, and audio controls – should always be operable with tactile, intuitive buttons and dials. If such measures aren’t taken, we risk a future where the act of driving itself becomes secondary to the overwhelming task of operating the car’s controls.

Ultimately, the current state of affairs is nothing short of absurd. We’ve legislated against mobile phone use for good reason, but we’ve turned a blind eye to the distracting chaos built into modern vehicles. It’s high time for a rethink – before the roads become an even greater battlefield of divided attention.

Britishness

I was listening to a series of Radio 4 programmes yesterday on The Shipping Forecast and understood how quintessential it is to British culture, that elusive tapestry of understated brilliance and peculiar traditions. It’s a bit like the weather forecast: baffling to outsiders, but we’d feel utterly adrift without it. 

If there’s one thing that unites us (aside from a love of tea), it’s our quiet reverence for the stalwarts of British broadcasting. Forget the brash and bawdy antics of GB News; true Britishness lies in the dulcet tones of Radio 4, the nostalgic comfort of the BBC, and, of course, the almost poetic mystique of the Shipping Forecast. 

The Shipping Forecast is a national treasure, as vital to our collective identity as apologising for things that aren’t our fault. For most of us, terms like “Dogger,” “Fisher,” and “German Bight” conjure not maritime safety, but a sense of tranquil reassurance. Do we understand it? Not remotely. Does it matter? Not at all. It’s the hypnotic rhythm, the perfect diction, and the sheer Britishness of it all. While other nations bicker over politics or sports, we sit back, tune in, and let those soothing coordinates of calm wash over us.

Radio 4 is where Britain goes to feel clever without really trying. From the gentle ribbing of The News Quiz to the curiously addictive Gardeners' Question Time, it’s a station that somehow makes the mundane seem marvellous. If the BBC is the beating heart of British broadcasting, then Radio 4 is its wry, ever-so-slightly pretentious soul. The great thing about Radio 4 is its refusal to pander. You’ll never catch it chasing ratings with sensationalist nonsense; its commitment to long-form debates and arcane panel shows is as immovable as a queue at Wimbledon.

The BBC is the world’s first public service broadcaster and our collective Auntie. Sure, she’s had her scandals, every family has its skeletons, but she’s still there, holding the moral high ground against a sea of sensationalist drivel. Where else could you flip from Attenborough’s Life on Earth to University Challenge, then land on an obscure documentary about Victorian sewage systems? It’s that unshakeable variety that makes the BBC the cornerstone of British culture.

And what could be more British than a curry? It’s a culinary symbol of our ability to adapt and adopt. The humble tikka masala, with its rich, spiced sauce and comforting familiarity, has firmly established itself as a national dish. Even in an age where xenophobia sometimes rears its ugly head, a curry is a steadfast reminder of the richness that comes from embracing cultural exchange. It’s a delicious irony that our identity as a nation owes so much to dishes born thousands of miles away.

And then there’s GB News. Loud, brash, and about as subtle as a builder’s radio blaring 80s rock ballads at 7am, or the ASBO neighbours. It’s not that we mind a bit of sensationalism, we’re the country that gave the world Page 3, after all, but there’s a fine line between engaging debate and a Punch-and-Judy shouting match. British culture is not about yelling at each other or whipping up outrage. It’s about nuance, quiet wit, and a healthy dose of self-deprecation. GB News may be the noisy neighbour at the street party, but the BBC and Radio 4 are the kindly couple in the corner, offering you a cup of tea and a fascinating story about the Battle of Agincourt.

So, what is British culture? It’s the shipping forecast at 00:48 or 05:20, the measured tones of Radio 4, the steady presence of the BBC, and the comforting warmth of a curry. It’s a love of the understated, the clever, and the oddly reassuring. And if you’re looking for shouting matches and sensationalism, well, there’s always YouTube.

Oh, and I'm sorry - another British tradition - saying sorry for something that's probably not your fault or is beyond your control but, to be deeply British, one feels the urge to apologise for everything.

Over Complication of Football

Time was when football was a simpler affair. At 5pm on a Saturday, you’d tune in to catch the football results read out in that unmistakable tone, a soothing yet authoritative voice listing the scores for all four divisions of the Football League. It was a ritual for millions across the UK, often enjoyed just before settling down for an episode of Doctor Who. For many, this was also the time to eagerly compare scores against their carefully marked Vernons or Littlewoods Pools coupon, hoping for that elusive jackpot that would transform their fortunes.

 

Back then, football’s structure felt straightforward. The First Division reigned supreme as the pinnacle of the domestic game, followed by the Second, Third, and Fourth Divisions. Each league had its own drama and allure, but they all fit neatly into an easily understood hierarchy. All was well with the world.

Fast forward to today, and the landscape of football leagues has transformed into a sprawling, multi-layered system that is as confusing as it is abundant. The top tiers of English football now boast a range of branded leagues. At the summit, the Premier League reigns as a global powerhouse, with its games broadcast to millions worldwide. Below it lie the Sky Bet Championship, Sky Bet League One, and Sky Bet League Two, the latter two forming part of the English Football League (EFL) system.

But the structure doesn’t stop there. The Vanarama National League, once a relatively niche part of the football pyramid, has gained prominence, and beneath it, there are regional divisions like the National League North and South. These tiers are not just stepping stones for clubs dreaming of promotion to the professional leagues; they also have their own fierce rivalries and dedicated fan bases.

This plethora of leagues has brought new opportunities and challenges to the game. On the one hand, the expanded pyramid means that clubs from smaller towns and communities can aspire to climb the ranks, chasing the dream of reaching the Football League or even the Premier League. On the other hand, the sheer complexity of the system can bewilder even the most ardent football fan.

It’s a world apart from the days when all you needed was a Pools coupon, a cup of tea, and the BBC results service to feel connected to the beautiful game.

Happy New Year to my reader.