I have long been a sat nav cynic, irritated beyond belief by people blindly following instructions to follow a route despite the fact the suggested route is actually a river. Or a playground; somebody's front room even. In my mind the satellite navigation system has taken away the common sense that is desperately needed to stay alive on the open road. Or rather, that is what I used to think. I have been somewhat converted by what turned out to be a solo car journey into the centre of London, my only companion being the sweet talking yet stern man hidden in a Tom Tom. Prior to this impromptu excursion, I've always used reams of paper displaying various scales of Google maps and directions according to AA route planner to navigate my way around the British Isles. Well, to be perfectly accurate, I've always had some friend or other accompany me on my journeys, and they have done the honours with the map reading, a bit like my own personal GPS. This car journey however, I didn't fancy wrestling with badly printed maps while driving and the only GPS I could get my hands on way the electronic kind. To get to my destination safely I had to put my prejudice aside, swallow my pride and allow Tom Tom into my life. At first, the whole affair was rather daunting. Being told where to turn by a disembodied voice that could not answer my questioning diatribe of,"What? Here? Are you sure it's the right junction? Can you pass me the water please?", was more than a bit disconcerting. It seemed that Tom Tom and I needed a while to build up a rapport so, I duly acquiesced to his every command. By the time I reached the outskirts of the capital's centre, I was glad I invested in improving our relationship early on, because the testing time we were about to go through would be the measure of the strength of our compatibility. The GPS through the dulcet tones of my now trusted Tom Tom forced me into lanes at a pace that induced mild panic, and encouraged me to make turns at odds with my internal compass. The day was hot, but without the luxury of air con I had to sweat it out. It was nigh on impossible to hear what was being said over the cacophony of pneumatic drills and sirens that make up the soundscape of London with the windows open. Despite the heat of the moment, Tom Tom got me to my destination trough numerous lanes of crazy couriers, emergency service vehicles, taxi's and busses; and all without a single argument. Upon my safe, and I must admit swift arrival I realised that I had succumbed to the sat nav way. I had no idea which roads I had driven for the past 4 miles, what, if any places of interest I had passed, or indeed if I had knocked down any OAP's in my blind desperation to obey my new found love Tom. My whole being was occupied by attempting to safely look between windscreen and sat nav screen to assure myself that Tom was telling the truth. And I was slightly upset that I had missed my usual indulgence of listening to Womans Hour on radio4. Trouble is I have to admit that ultimately the experience was in fact a major turning point in my opinion. I can no longer claim to be a sat nav cynic, and I now find myself in a position where I am pro GPS technology. At the end of the day, the alternatives are for more dangerous. Drivers flapping maps on the steering wheel whilst trying to drive will definitely end in a disaster, especially in city road systems, and as for the friend that is willing to read the map on my behalf? In truth, it always ends in an argument once we've become lost for the umpteenth time, usually because they have led me the wrong way up a motorway with no exit for the next 750 miles; and that's not something Tom would do.
Please Rate this Article 5 out of 54 out of 53 out of 52 out of 51 out of 5
Not yet Rated
