Most of us hate the idea of the ‘litigious society’, writes Motoring Correspondent Charis Whitcombe. We hear stories of people suing McDonalds because they weren’t warned that hot coffee is hot, and hot things burn when you spill them, and we fume over the ‘injured’ party’s greed and stupidity.

It’s good to be warned of unexpected dangers. But businesses increasingly have to warn us of the bleedin’ obvious, simply so we can’t sue them when we do something really dumb.

And it’s not just businesses falling foul of the litigious society. Take car insurance. The cost of the average car insurance policy has sky-rocketed, and one of the prime causes – according to the Association of British Insurers (ABI) – is the number of compensation claims for whiplash injuries.

“Britain’s thriving whiplash industry is now pushing up the cost of the average motor insurance policy by a staggering 20 per cent,” the ABI tells us. “Every year 570,000 people claim for whiplash injuries – enough to fill the London Olympic Stadium seven times over. Last year these claims cost insurers over £2 billion, adding an extra £90 a year to the average annual motor premium of £440.”

Of course, if you genuinely suffer whiplash it can be a serious, painful, debilitating injury and financial compensation is fair enough. But while the overall number of car crashes has been dropping, whiplash claims have risen by a third in the last three years. Which does raise some eyebrows.

So the ABI is asking for “radical reform” – as radical as asking for “objective evidence that they have suffered injury” before a claimant is given compensation. Radical? Am I alone in being surprised that this isn’t already the case?

Thames Water is telling us that – in the current water shortage – we should be proud of having a dirty car. Meanwhile, Autoglym is encouraging us to take a different course of action. They want us to keep washing.

“Well they would, wouldn’t they?” I hear you think, “given that a car-cleaning product company relies on us wanting shiny cars to stay in business.” But hang on a minute, don’t be too harsh – Autoglym makes some good points.

If you do want to keep your car clean (and you’ll be risking the paintwork if you don’t), then you can do so with “surprisingly little water”. Forget about using a hosepipe and risking a massive fine, not to mention vile looks from your neighbours – and use a bucket and watering can instead.

“Water from a single watering can should be sufficient for rinsing off all the shampoo suds,” says Autoglym, also advising that by using a ‘rose’ on your watering can, you can shower the bodywork from close range, making the best possible use of each drop. And a synthetic chamois-leather will mop up the final few suds, while also drying the car “to achieve a streak-free gloss finish”.

It sounds like good advice to me.

These days, when word-of-Tweet marketing is so vital, we need memorable reasons to talk to each other about new stuff, write Motoring Correspondent Charis Whitcombe. And that includes a short, sharp, easy-to-remember name. While I’ve made fun of VW’s ridiculously monikered up! (lower-case u and exclamation mark included), at least it’s more Facebook-friendly than the new Ferrari F12berlinetta.

Whatever happened to names that captured the imagination, filled us with desire – names that were strong enough to inspire songs? “Twelve wild horses, in silver chains,” sang Chris Rea in his ode to the Daytona, accompanied by soulful guitar twangs. Do you suppose Mr Rea valued the Daytona above all other Ferraris, or did it have more to do with the scansion? He didn’t call the song 365 GTB/4, after all, which is the Daytona’s formal name, and can you imagine him singing an ode to the F12berlinetta?

While I’m having a moan about marketing, let’s not stop at names. Take the new Nissan Invitation, launched at Geneva, and described by its manufacturer as “comfortable, energetic, fresh, clean, powerful, distinctive, confident, and generous.” Well, it was certainly a relief to know it’s not uncomfortable, or lazy, or stale, grubby, impotent, nondescript, nervous, or mean. But why should we notice it, or tell our friends about it on Facebook?

We Brits are pretty fond of Nissan. After all, its Sunderland plant employs 5,000 people and exports 80% of what it makes, so come on Nissan – help us to accept your invitation. Competition for our attention is so fierce nowadays, and our attention-spans shrinking so fast, that we need clear compelling reasons to be cheerful about your – possibly adorable – new creation. Tell us in 140 characters or less – “We’ll fall in love with Invitation because…”

We recently reported the winners in Euro NCAP’s car safety tests. What we didn’t tell you was that the poorest result was achieved by the Dacia Duster, with just three stars.

Strangely, this has caused me to dwell on this (literally) ill-starred motor. I find myself mysteriously attracted by a combination of its pasting at the hands of Euro NCAP, and its curious name – is it soft, square and yellow? Or feathery and Ken Dodd-esque? Or perhaps, I muse, it has plucky ambitions of evoking the Plymouth Duster – a classic 1970s yank tank, hip enough to feature in Tom Waits songs?

And name-wise, I confess that I’m also self-destructively drawn – like a rambler towards a cliff-edge – by the Nissan Cedric. Something in me wants to buy one just so when motoring aficionados ask what I drive, I can tell them – then dare them to laugh, using my best cool and level stare.

Maybe it’s because I’m English, and sentimentally fond of underdogs, that sometimes I’m more fascinated by flawed gems than perfect jewels. And it’s not only names. I once asked a colleague, who road-tests cars for a living, what was the worst he’d ever driven. His unhesitating answer – ‘Lamborghini Espada’ – made me long for one of these 1960s classics. Those lines! Lambo V12! Four seats! Nuts but gorgeous.
    
Whereas, much as I utterly admire modern German motors for their impeccable engineering, maybe they’re too perfect. And if I tool into Tesco’s in my Espada I bet, a pound to a Clubcard point, that I get chatted up more than I would in a BMW 328i or Golf GTI.

All set for the multi-cultural international festival that will be the London Olympics?

The Dartford Crossing, only a few miles from the Olympic site and one of the key access points for competitors and spectators alike, doesn’t appear to be. I reached the tolls the other day and didn’t have much change in my pocket. No problem, I thought, I’ll pay with my card. Only — unlike every other toll booth in Western Europe — they don’t take cards (and no, you can’t pay online either).

Instead they make it as problematic for you as possible, all for the heinous crime of being 10p short of £1.50. They give you a little blue chitty and you have to pay — quaintly by cheque or postal order — within seven days.

If you don’t, it may constitute a criminal offence (under the Transport Act 2000) and you may also get points on your licence. That sounds like a great Olympic welcome for our foreign cousins, so accustomed to being able to swipe a card and drive away in seconds, doesn’t it?

The Highways Agency has known about the importance of the Dartford Crossing to the smooth running of the Games for the best part of a decade. It’s a key element in ensuring that hundreds of thousands of people can get from the suburbs of the capital, to the Olympic site, and beyond, with ease.

Even Boris Johnson can see it’s a pinch point. London’s Mayor has written to the government stating that, during the Olympics, “heading for the Dartford Crossing will become a major consideration for drivers in the east of the city.”

Johnson has also asked the Government to give serious thought to suspending the charge to use the Crossing during the Olympics. “It would,” he said, “be a very considerate act that would be greatly appreciated during the Games.”

As yet, according to the City Hall, the government has failed to respond.

When we contacted the Highways Agency, a spokesman said that “improvements at the Crossing are an important priority” and added that “the Highways Agency is currently developing options for newer technology and road layout changes that would support a future 'free-flow' charging arrangement.”

“The provision to collect and pay charges would be undertaken remotely removing the need for drivers to stop at a barrier.” According to the Agency, the booths at Dartford were not constructed to take card payments, but if it’s any compensation, you can pay in Euros.

Apparently, the Department of Transport’s business plan says free-flow charging will be delivered by end of 2013  when road users would have access to a variety of payment channels to pay the charge, including online. Good news, except for the timeline — that’s 18 months after the London Games...

Photo: The Queen Elizabeth II bridge crossing the Thames at Dartford – if you're 10p short of change, an old-school bureaucratic fiasco will ensue. (Getty Images)

I’m sitting here at my desk, watching the first whirling snowflakes of winter land on our lawn, writes Motoring Correspondent Charis Whitcombe. Nothing so far to suggest it will develop into the snow storms which hit south-east England in 2003, and turned even our temperate little square of East Anglia into something resembling the Arctic Circle.

Toward the end of January that year, there was a night – you might remember it – when thousands of drivers were trapped in their vehicles, even on the M11. Some cars escaped by driving the wrong way down the southbound carriageway and some just sat there, snowbound, for the entire night. And the following morning, reports came through of how local villagers had taken blankets and hot soup to the stranded motorists. Many of the volunteers walked through 4ft deep snowdrifts to get to them. It made me feel good about the whole human race.

I forget, now, why I had to go out in my car the next day – probably it was stupid of me – but no doubt it seemed important at the time. The snow had stopped, but the roads were lethal, abandoned cars scattered across the ice like snooker balls. One of the cars, a nearly-new Renault, had been vandalised. The fact that it was nearly-new is neither here nor there: some person, or persons, unknown had singled it out, smashed the side window and left it to fill up with snow.

Maybe extreme weather, like war, brings out the best or worst in the human race.

Photo: Getty Images

The promotional material for a new, recently launched city car called it cheeky, playful, appealing, sensuous, seductive, light-hearted, and bubbly, writes Motoring Correspondent Charis Whitcombe. And that was just the sump-guard. (Okay, sorry, I made that last bit up, but the rest is true.)

Where does this expectation come from, that city cars are feminine, cute and fun? It might be daft, but we all seem to share it – look at the popularity of MINI, Fiat 500, Micra, et al. By the same token, of course, it’s a well-known fact that ‘executive’ cars are brooding, blue-chinned, gimlet-eyed loners who work as secret agents and gun-runners and go extreme mountaineering at weekends.

Maybe we’ve all been brainwashed into this by the ad men. But I suspect it runs deeper – something in our psyche seems to assign human traits to cars, in a way it just doesn’t with food-mixers, vacuum cleaners, or motorbikes.

Is it something to do with two headlight eyes and a radiator mouth? Cars have faces. Cars are just people made of metal. I’ve even started to notice how the headlights of classic cars are often a close match to sunglasses and spectacle fashions of their time. Think of 1950s winged spectacles and the pert headlights of a 1950s Ford Zephyr, perched on the sticky-out front wings. Or the contact-lenses-on-stalks made famous by John Lennon, or the Hollywood film star’s wraparound sunglasses – they all have their automotive equivalent. Question is, which came first? Are we, perhaps, starting to dress like our cars?

I was having a lunchtime drink outside our village pub on Saturday, writes Motoring Correspondent Charis Whitcombe. The occasional car tootled past, often with a friendly wave from the driver, and the sun shone down on the beer-drinking locals. This, I thought happily, is why I love living in the country.

Then came a bus. Filthy black diesel fumes belched from its exhausts and spread across the pavement, while the merry beer-drinkers coughed and spluttered at their pub tables. The pungent smell of the fumes lingered for, ooh, five or ten minutes, and the tranquil scene was shattered.

We somehow assume that buses are ‘green’; that because a bus carries lots of people, and has just one engine, it must emit less CO2 per passenger mile than those selfish people who drive a car. Well, no, actually. The ABD (Association of British Drivers) points out that Government emissions data reveal a very different picture.

Buses outside London emit an average of 221g/km per passenger. Meanwhile, a small petrol car – with just the driver aboard – averages around 201g/km, and a small diesel car just 172g/km. Take a passenger or two, and the comparison is even more remarkable. It’s the same story when it comes to the sort of filthy pollutants my fellow pub-goers were forced to inhale on Saturday.

Of course, there are many good reasons to have buses. I’m not suggesting we get rid of them. But let’s stop kidding ourselves that they’re the Green Solution.

A reader’s letter in the latest (January) issue of the CSMA Club Magazine points out that the amplifier attachments which ‘boy racers’ fit to their exhausts (to sound more like F1 cars) not only make a lot of noise for the rest of us to endure, they also reduce performance and burn more fuel, writes Motoring Correspondent Charis Whitcombe.

Our reader makes a good point. I’ve always wondered whether the drivers of the body-kitted hot hatches which squeal through our village realise that the ugly plastic adornments stuck to their cars actually slow them down. A massive rear spoiler might increase downforce when taking a corner at racing speed but, on a bog-standard three-door hatchback on public roads, something the size of a small dining table stuck to your roof is merely going to increase air resistance (and fuel consumption). It will probably knock a good 10mph off your top speed.

Even more extreme is the plastic urinal which a local chap appears to have glued onto the bonnet of his car. (We fondly refer to him as Armitage Shanks.) On closer inspection, the urinal-shaped object appears to be a sort of home-made ram-charger – in other words, Armitage is hoping that cold air will be scooped up and forced into the induction system to increase performance. The bad news for our young hero is that he’d probably have to be going about 200mph for it to work. At lower speeds, he will burn more fuel and go more slowly than if he left the bonnet as its maker intended.

But no doubt I’m missing the point. Perhaps the real purpose of these plastic adornments is simply a courting ritual I’m too outdated to comprehend. A bit like bowerbirds, maybe, who create elaborately decorated twig structures to attract a mate. Good luck, Armitage.

[Photograph: a nice and in-no-way ridiculous customised 60s Beetle. Credit: Istockphoto.com]

With what we’d like to think is perfect timing, the January issue of CSMA Club Magazine will drop on members' doormats, just as Stockholm’s popularity as a hot travel destination goes through the roof. In part that’s thanks to the city’s long-standing appeal as a cultural epicentre — it is now drawing comparisons with London and New York — but also it’s due to the global popularity of Swedish author, Stieg Larsson, whose Millennium trilogy has been an international sensation, selling 60 million copies in 46 countries.

On Boxing Day, the Hollywood version of Larsson’s ‘The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo,’ starring Daniel ‘Bond’ Craig, will introduce the charms of Stockholm to a whole new audience of cinemagoers, just as the various incarnations of Malmo detective Kurt Wallander have also fascinated television audiences across Europe.

Then there’s Jo Nesbo, whose gruesomely festive thriller, The Snowman, has led him to be labelled the next Stieg Larsson. Nesbo’s hero, the tragically named Harry Hole is — like Wallander — a bitter, drunken, near-insomniac, with a string of broken relationships to his name. But then you’d probably guessed that.

Scandinavian drama, either published or filmed, is huge business right now, but what is it about Larsson’s writing, Nesbo’s bloody murders and Wallander’s bitter brooding, about the scenes of shabby offices, bland suburbs and foreboding icy landscapes that so grips the British psyche?

In Larsson’s case it is perhaps because his writing, which blends goth fashions, computer hacking, campaigning journalism and geriatric Fascists, with battered Volvos, is rooted in the chaos of our times. His real life as an investigative journalist encompassed exposing racism and right-wing extremists. As a result, he received death threats and was also — after his sudden death in 2004 — the subject of many conspiracy theories, including the internet rumour that he was murdered by the right-wing ‘establishment.’

Perhaps that’s why, in deepest mid-winter, during the long, cold, dark and icy nights, these Scandinavian chiller thrillers have found such a receptive audience. Our newspapers are filled with tales of phone hacking and treachery, of communication through a very tangled web — the internet itself — and of economic conspiracies. Larsson’s stories touch on all these issues.

But is this just a purple patch for Scandinavian crime writers? Hakan Nasser, another Swedish crime writer, thinks so. “After all we used to produce great tennis players, too,” Nasser said.

Our feature on Stockhom is published in the January 2012 issue of CSMA Club Magazine, direct mailed to all Club members, ten times a year. Click here to become a member and to receive your copy!