WHILE the Ford Motor Company has spent much of 2008 celebrating the centenary of its founder’s automotive inventiveness, the onslaught of high oil prices and economic downturn has seen a slump in output for all the main players.

Ford itself has been forced to introduce a four-day week at its huge factory in Southampton, and has laid-off casual staff. While that’s bad news for the auto companies and those who work for them, it may have further to go before the motoring public will be totally wrested from their addiction to their four-wheeled fix.

The more observant among us will have detected a curious thing this year. It’s particularly noticeable in an island which, for several clever resale reasons, puts brand-new rather than long-serving hire-cars on our summer roads. This year ‘black’ is the new silver.

Just look at the ranks of the multi-storey and visitor attraction car parks and tell me if I’m wrong. So Henry Ford’s preferred (indeed unique) option has completed a full circle. Did the paint shops in Detroit or Halewood know something about the economic mood we’re now driving through when they stirred up the spray colour mix?

This year’s new car sales have registered their lowest level in 42 years. Understandably, the guzzling 4×4 is the biggest casualty. You’ll now find little favour if you wish to exchange an elderly motor with the desperate purveyor of a new machine. Reducing carbon footprints and emissions is firmly in the sights of every eco-warrior, and the motor car represents an obvious (and frankly soft) target.

Nevertheless, EU pressure to meet carbon reduction targets is under attack from teutonic intransigence, while the UK Motor Trades Federation continues to issue apocalyptic warnings about the demise of what is already a virtually defunct local dinosaur industry. Sadly, in our own Island, we’ve just walked away from a sensible measure to curb size and emission, courtesy of pre-election appeasement.

However, unless fuel and technological inspiration desert us completely, you’ll never destroy the love of man for the motorcar. Today’s high-performance, mega-expensive sports car and limo worship is lasting proof, even before you delve into the cult following of Formula 1.

There’s no question that at the margins, it slips over into obsession, with ‘customisation’ and wreck makeovers. Psychologists talk of substitute behaviour for other aspects of life — even, cruelly, a lack of male potency. But whatever you will, there remain very definite behavioural, physical and even, dare I say it, sexual associations with a motor car: young ladies, often scantily clad, draped over car bonnets at motor shows, or car magazines strategically grouped near the ‘top shelf’ offerings at the newsagent.

UK customers are a discriminating bunch. They also probably have the largest selection to choose from.
In France, by comparison, the car market is dominated by three manufacturers: Renault, Peugeot-Citroen and Ford. Pick up a French car magazine and the reviewers will score the national manufacturers head and shoulders above all comers.

And auto-nationalism goes right to the top. You’d never see President Sarkozy, or his predecessors, being chauffeured in anything other than a French marque. Of course, there’s just a bit of hypocrisy involved. These days the national badge might be the only thing crafted locally, given the increasing trend of sourcing components internationally.

I’ll tell you of one instance in which the humble motor-car dealt the card players of international diplomacy a dummy hand. Back in the 1980s, while visiting South Korea, I was chaperoned to appointments courtesy of the very attentive British embassy staff. We were even granted an interview at the Presidential ‘Blue House’ — a singular honour at the time.

The only problem was that I was driven there in a very neat, ordinary, light metallic blue Toyota estate car. See the problem? It was probably at the time the only Japanese vehicle in Seoul, and it belonged to the British!
When I asked the Embassy official about the possible effects on local political sensitivities, his reply was simple: ‘It’s the most reliable vehicle we could find.’

Like those servants of HMG, I reckon that you wear your car as much as you drive it. So I’m happy with my own middle-aged, small, easy-to-park, non-power-steered, no alloys [Japanese] ‘bagnol’. It’s ideal, I contend, for Jersey conditions — never, you understand, displaying the merest hint of jealousy!

Like many teenagers, I did rush for the L-plates on my 17th birthday, and my car-owning path is strewn with a succession of less ‘sensible’ — and yes, large — British prestige vehicles. From petrol-headed to unleaded, you’ll now find me maintaining that car ownership has passed from pleasure to necessity. After all, you can’t take your precious motor to bed with you.

Nevertheless, they are ingrained in you. I challenge anyone not to be able to remember his first car — maybe the registration number, or even the affectionate name that many proud families christened their cherished tin-box infant.
So let me share with you probably the best example of debunking I’ve come across recently.

On TV’s shrine to auto-mania, ‘Top Gear’, two retail millionaires were discussing the merits of their latest extravagant ‘wheels’, and it emerged that they’d both opted for what interior designers call ‘neutral’ colours, namely beige. ‘That’s not beige,’ cried one enraged rag-trade magnate. ‘That’s Jewish racing gold!’ Henry, my friend, time for a little grave-turning.