The Bewitching Hour:- An AMG Evening.

There's a homeless man sitting on the bench the on other side of the road. I'm sitting here, in a frightfully well-to-do part of Westminster, in a Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG coupé. I'm sitting on a startlingly comfortable leather recliner, listening to BBC 6 through the Harmon Kardon augmented hifi, and drinking occasionally from a bottle of Tropicana Orange juice. I feel slightly guilty in admitting that, right now, my life is probably a little more rewarding than his.

It's been a slightly strange evening, actually. As you know, the cars I drive are ridiculously diverse; I'd usually be spending my evening in a car worth about one eightieth the value of this one. But tonight, and tonight only, I get to act out my overprivelaged douchebag fantasies.

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Anarchy in the UK, London's Burning, and other such clichéd yet relevant pop music references

Tonight London was within hours of being razed to the ground by the very citizens who usually keep only her home fires burning. Same Last night, and the night before that. I am among the least politically influential minds of mine or any other generation. I have never started, contributed to or, even, been a victim of a revolution, not within my knowledge, anyway. Political upheaval and world events rarely rock my protected bubble, I'm pretty much just an observer. It's a capacity I feel comfortable in.

I like to think of myself as being at least as politically aware as the next guy, though. And surely there can't be anyone who doesn't recognise that scenes like the ones unfolding (should I want them too) on my high-definition 24hr news channel tonight, were bound to happen sooner or later.

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