It’s hard to be bracketed as one of a “dwindling band of enthusiasts”, like some sheepskin-coated buffer with a vintage Lagonda who bangs on about double-declutching. With resigned sadness I learn that only one in five new cars in the UK has a manual gearbox, and a generation is opting for an automatic-only driving test. Soon we will be like clutch-phobic Americans unable to “drive stick”. There is something masterful and deliberate about changing gear yourself. It focuses you, the smooth growl of change reminding you that despite this age of button-pushing and screen-swiping you are not playing video games but in personal control of a big, heavy, dangerous machine: you’re a watchful human responsibly attuned to its sounds and strains. Driving manual was one of the last necessary skills of physicality for the overeducated majority who don’t have a craft requiring routine dexterity. As AI and shrinking attention spans erode us mentally, so changes like this reduce the palpable necessity for co-ordination and let relevant brain cells atrophy.