BATTLE BASTARD

here are two types of people in this world: those who look at cars as nothing more than a means of transport, and the rest of us, who are down at the local testing office banging on the door the second that we’re old enough to hold a licence. That little piece of plastic means more than just being able to sit in the driver’s seat without your parents telling you to piss off; it’s the physical embodiment of unlimited freedom. Once you have one in your wallet and a car of your own, there is no place you can’t get to, at any time you feel like going there. Those cars become a critical instrument of your social life; friends are made through the late-night car-park hangs and ill-planned roadies to god-knows-where just because you can, and the longer you hold on to them, the greater the chance