[Image courtesy of Say Bobby] Last week, I should have refueled on the way to work. Thanks to the awesome PetrolPrices site and app, I receive a daily mail informing me of the price of the cheapest diesel within the range of my office and my home. I drive past a Tesco superstore with filling station and recently it has had the most competitive price in the area. Was I going to heed this ‘easy’ option on Friday morning. Of course not, I was going to be stubborn and see how far I could push my little Polo. Volkswagen I am going to push the boundaries of your economic engine, even before you launched your ill-fated Bluemotion range. As I left the office around 7pm, I wondered if I could follow through on my plan to get to Tesco on Wellington Street. Heading home to Tesco, Warfield was out of the question. The issue with traveling into Slough was that I would on purpose, drive past not one but two filling stations (Esso and Shell on the London Road) although they were marginally more expensive than the Tesco Extra in the centre of Slough. Usually, I am not nervous but this is a new car and I was taking a risk. My insurance policy was VW breakdown cover but I did not really want to be the idiot ruining the weekend of some poor patrol person. You can imagine how anxious I felt as I drove down the A4 but I was determined to make it to Tesco and I did, with probably fuel to spare. Will I learn from this episode? Of course not, expect a similar scenario in about five weeks time, when I will be facing a similar dilemma. What can I say? I like to live dangerously.
We all like taking risks to a certain degree. While I consider myself relatively risk adverse, I occasional can roll the dice. Now before I continue, I probably have to confess this is purely down to prehistoric masculinity. For as long as I have been able to drive, I have found the need to refuel a necessary but somewhat inconvenient evil. Therefore I know the ‘true’ capacity of my vehicle, the realistic range I will be able to cover on a full tank. Younger readers may be surprised that cars existed without detailed onboard computer systems to let you know how many miles you had remaining. You just had a light appear once you got to your final few bars on your fuel gauge. Even so rather than heed the warning of 50, 40, 30, 20, or 15 miles remaining, I wait for not only the range to hit zero. I even go as far as to wait for there to be no further bars remaining on the fuel gauge. Yes, I truly am running on fumes.