Variables y operacionalización

I’ve managed to completely forget how to drive. And since that was a split infinitive, it seems I’ve completely forgotten how to write as well. The driving thing is more of a worry. In the past couple of days I’ve pulled out on to roundabouts even though I could see perfectly well that a car was coming. I’ve jumped red lights. I’ve parallel-parked like I was using the force, and then yesterday, while reversing up a one-way street to shout at a bus driver, I backed, with a sickening crunch, into some poor chap’s Volvo.

My progress from the wilds of Huddersfield to the confines of Sloane Square has been set against a tuneless cacophony of blaring horns, furious parking sensor alerts, squealing tyres, rending metal and hurled abuse.

We see this kind of thing in sportsmen. They train, reach a peak of physical fitness and then, one day, for no obvious reason, they’re unable to perform properly. Of course, this doesn’t matter. It means only that they’ll lose the game. But on the road, the consequences can be far more serious. So why does it happen?

I’ve checked my horoscopes and none warns me to stay off the roads until the moon rises up out of Venus. I have no money or family worries. The job trundles on. And yet I can’t drive. So I’ve been forced to revisit an issue that last reared its head about 20 years ago. Biorhythms.

It is said that the ancient Greeks first attempted to explain mood swings 3,000 years ago but it wasn’t until around 1900 that a psychologist and a doctor worked out why people in perfect physical health with no worries could sometimes feel unhappy. They reckoned that from birth we go through intellectual, physical and emotional cycles. Each works on a different time-frame, but there

emotional cycles. Each works on a different time-frame, but there are occasions when all three are at a low ebb. This makes us muddle-headed and depressed and unable to park a Range Rover properly.

Back in the early 1980s the Daily Mail got hold of the story and for a while everyone was talking about it. Except me. I thought it was just another load of ley line, tarot card, Area 51, weird-beard twaddle.

And I uncovered further evidence to support this scepticism the other day when I consulted aninternet biorhythm planner to find that my ideal partners – people with exactly the same ‘waves’ – are Uma Thurman (good) and Kim Jong-il (not so good).

However, I fed my birth date into the system and, bugger me, for the past three days all three of my charts have been bumping along the bottom. In essence, I’ve been driving up and down the MI in a two-ton Range Rover even though I have been a weeping, slobbering wreck with the co-ordination of a half-set jelly.

I was, at this point, going to bring up Carole Caplin and some conjecture on what she might do to solve the problem. On an ordinary day it would have been shrewd and incisive, but today, with my head full of wallpaper paste, I can’t seem to make any worthwhile link.

So I shall move on to the practical and cheap Ford Ka. Even though it looks like a teapot, it’s been a huge success in Britain, taking nearly half of all the sales in its class.

Recently it was improved with the fitting of an electronic milometer, a low-fuel warning light, and, on luxury models, a rev counter and a wash wipe facility for the windscreen. This does beg a question:

what the hell did it come with before?

There’s a similar issue under the bonnet. The new engine will get you from 0 to 62 mph in 13.7 seconds, which is so slow you could start off on a biorhythm high and, by the time you were going past 40, be convinced you are no good at your job and that everyone hates you. Also, if this is the best the new engine can do, how gutless was the old one?

You might think that a solution to these shortfalls can be found with the Sportka (pronounced Sport Ka), but I’m afraid not. Despite the big alloy wheels, the fat 195 tyres and sports suspension, this comes with nothing more groovy than a 1.6 that has eight valves, just like a Triumph Herald, and a single overhead camshaft, just like your grandad’s old Hoover.

The result is 0–62 mph in 9.7 seconds and a cheek-rippling top speed of 108. In other words, it’s noticeably slower than the old 1.6-litre Golf GTi from nearly 30 years ago.

The Sportka has been around for a few months now, but I really couldn’t see the point of driving one. I mean, who wants a tweaked teapot? Who wants a hot hatch that isn’t even lukewarm? And what about that name: Sportka?

If they wanted something that sounds like a fast fish, why not go for a Turbo T?

I changed my mind because of Ford’s new viral advertising campaign. Every day, millions of people send millions of other people e-pictures of people sitting on the lavatory. They take half an hour to download and are never funny. But it doesn’t stop the recipients sending them on to millions of other people until, by the end of the day, everyone from the Falkland Islands to Falkirk is looking at the same picture of the same man on the bog.

Ford tapped into this, making a film that got on to the web. Bingo.

An ad everyone would see, because downloading something from a friend is always more interesting than doing some work. What made the Ford ad stand out was that it was funny. What made it

memorable was Ford’s insistence that it reached the internet by accident. What? You went to all the trouble of filming a cat having its head chopped off by the electric sunroof in a Sportka… for fun?

Yeah, right.

The ad really is worth a watch and can be found by typing ‘Ford’,

‘Sport’, ‘Ka’ and ‘cat’ into your Google. Then, when you’ve done that, you will see the car in a different light. I did, so a couple of weeks ago, before I forgot how to drive, I borrowed one and went for a spin.

It’s not fast, but for £11,120 the SE version is well equipped with air-conditioning and anti-lock brakes provided as standard. There are lots of extras available, too, including a ‘smokers’ pack’ for £15. I wonder what that is. Seems a lot for a packet of fags. Maybe they throw in a nice lighter and an onyx ashtray as well.

I doubt it, though, because the interior is not what you’d call luxurious. The glovebox is like a £4.99 swingtop bin from Argos, and there are acres of painted metal.

But boy, oh boy, is it fun. Because you have to work the gearbox like you’re beating eggs to get any sort of go from the strangulated 1950s engine, you feel like you’re part of the performance package, like you’re the organic part of a machine. That means you feel involved.

And you are. This car has fabulous, wheel-at-each-corner

unflappability, which makes spirited progress an absolute hoot. The steering is weighted just so, and the handling is truly joyful.

Remember the old Mini and how it could always put a smile on your face, even if you were used to a Ferrari or a Bentley? Well, the little Ka is just the same. It’s like a Pitts biplane compared with a jumbo jet. And I know which most 747 pilots would prefer to fly. More importantly, it can defeat the black dog. For 3,000 years man has been trying to explain the reason why we have bad moods. Now, Ford has come up with a way to make them go away.

Sunday 4 July 2004