I like where I live. It facilitates ease of access to both the countryside and the malls, where I have spent many happy hours in my car waiting for my dear lady wife. Looking out from the slightly higher viewpoint of my home, I can see suburbia spread out before me like a model village where nothing ever goes wrong. Out there, lining the streets and driveways and alleys of the neighborhood are the cars. Some old, some younger, a few new and all mainstream, products of an auto advertising world of such efficiency, such power, as to convince seemingly sentient human beings the “crossover” is something other than a tall hatchback.
There is the occasional surprise; rounding a corner I came across a $190,000 Honda NSX casually parked on the street, but mostly the motors are middle-of-the-road. It is my contention that most people, gearheads excepted, don?t really care too much about the car they buy as long as it does the job. Judging by some of the choices made, folks buy or lease what they like the look of within their budget. They have little interest in emissions or top speeds or alloy wheel size. They really don?t give a hoot nor a holler neither about how quickly it gets to 60 mph, and it is doubtful if more than a handful could tell you their vehicle?s European NCAP safety rating. Yet they have allowed themselves to be swayed by the anti-diesel lobby that the fuel is the work of the very devil himself.

The Diesel Question
The old argument used to be that, if...