Daft Old Duffer returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
In the days before Tesco and his mates brought supermarket petrol to the Island, seasoned holidaymakers did their best not to buy any petrol here.
On the way down they would pause to fill up at mainland prices before boarding the ferry, and then endeavour to end their holiday with an almost empty tank. If they misjudged it and were showing as completely empty they were careful to splash in no more than a bare half gallon, just enough to get back to that cheaper mainland garage.
Saved 75p per week
It apparently never occurred to any of them that with the average family car having a fuel capacity of eight gallons, bone dry to overflow, they saved about 75p over the week by doing so. And adding in the fact that they stopped twice to fill up, instead of just once, idling their engines in the queue then switching off and starting up again each time, they almost certainly saved no more than a few pennies. And wasted twenty minutes out of their lives to do it.
It was as if, having worked out what seemed a good wheeze at first, their reasoning processes had stopped, and they hadn’t thought the situation through.
Common sense and intelligence
It’s a little kink in the brain’s working that seems to affect us all at different times. And has nothing to do with intelligence.
I worked for a while alongside a young chap who was in his first job since leaving university. He was already married to his childhood sweetheart and they had set up their first home in a North London flat.
His salary was rock bottom and he was finding it difficult to make ends meet. But he didn’t mope over the situation. Instead he and the missus made a game of it all and he delighted in telling us of the ways they had contrived to save a penny here, twopence there.
Hadn’t thought it through
One day he boasted how they made a twopenny box of matches last a month or more by lighting the pilot on the gas stove as soon as they got up and leaving it on until bedtime.
“That way,” he explained, “we can light the gas fire in the lounge, the Ascot heater in the bathroom and any of the cooker gas rings with a paper spill made from the newspaper. So only using one match each day.”
We regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Then someone suggested that surely the cost of the gas used by the pilot light must amount to at least as much as two or three matches. So where was the saving?
The look on his face was enough to tell us that this smart young chap, degree in Chemical Engineering – which ain’t easy – and an assured climb up the management ladder ahead of him, had totally failed to spot that obvious fact.
Obsessed by the need to plan his critical little economies, his thought processes had stopped short of the logical conclusion.
Saves time old boy
And I have a friend who always fills his large kettle to the brim every morning even though he is going to make nothing more than a cup of instant coffee.
“I fill it up once and it lasts me most of the day,” he explained. “Saves time.” Somehow he appears to have convinced himself that the water, once boiled, would somehow retain at least most of its heat. I didn’t try to argue the point. He is a Professor of Engineering after all.
Never fully fill up
I did meet one chap who bucked the trend, at least in one way. He knew to a yard how far he could go once his car fuel gauge hit empty, and he refused to ever refill beyond the halfway mark.
“I seldom if ever take a trip that requires more than four gallons” he explained. “So filling my tank would mean carting around four extra gallons of petrol I would never use. And that amounts in round figures to 40 pounds in weight. Would you think it sensible to burn the fuel necessary to permanently carry around a 40 pound sack of potatoes in your boot?”
Of course, being an engineer myself I had to agree with him. But it never stopped me, when passing a petrol station, checking my gauge and if it showed under half full, driving in and putting in that entirely wasteful four gallons.
Our ancestors’ fault?
I don’t know where this kink in our thought line fits in. Perhaps it’s a hangover from our ancestors. Perhaps not doing the logical thing at the last minute threw that predator off course.
Perhaps veering away from the logical conclusion meant you defeated your enemy by taking him at an angle or a time that common sense dictated was ridiculous
I have no idea. I just know that whenever I’m out for a walk and have to cross the railway, even when I’ve had to wait until a train has passed, and know another can’t possibly arrive for at least several minutes, I still find myself looking up the line in case another is coming along. And what’s more, looking both ways even though the line is single track.
And I’ve survived well enough so far.
