One time I asked my son, who is three, what type of car he’d like to drive when he was older. I was hoping he’d be a petrol-head like his father, but he just matter-of-factly replied, “A dragon.” I said that wasn’t a real type of car, and he said “No car – just a dragon.”
And you know, sometimes, I think he might have the right idea. I mean, dragons aren’t real (so far as we know) but I wouldn’t mind downgrading to a horse on occasion. At least I know how much horsepower it’s supposed to have: one horsepower. One horse’s worth of power. And I have occasional regrets when I take my own vehicle down to a local garage for car servicing. Ringwood being the way it is, I have to do this pretty regularly, and when I see the bill that comes with owning a stupidly powerful V8 car like mine, I think horse feed would probably be cheaper. That’s definitely my fault, because I can’t stand to own anything with less than a four-litre engine, and those parts don’t come cheap. I know for a fact that a few pieces have to be sourced from Germany and no one makes them, so I keep going to the car servicing garages I trust instead of shopping around.
Riding a dragon would probably be a balancing act. Upkeep would be expensive, with those things eating whole sheep and cows, maybe several per day. But you could then travel as the crow flies, missing all the traffic. Dragons are proud and strong, so I wouldn’t need to book into a mechanic in Ringwood every single time something goes wrong. Parking would be an issue. Training, more of an issue.
So we’re decided: no dragons. Not too fond of horses either. And I need my V8 engine…it’s the only other thing I’m proud of in life besides my son. Just need to take extra good care of it, so I’m not shelling out squillions for foreign parts.