I need a password to BRAKE? What? No! STOP! Aaaargh!

Turn left at the next driveway ... Waaaaah!

Yes, it’s still early days and all that, but what about vehicle GPS mapping as a related example? It’s been around for ages and never gets any better. Sure, the day I bought a Garmin, I never looked back. Unfortunately, it also meant I stopped looking forward and on either side too, and ended up in all sorts of daft places. GPS announces junctions where there are none, sends you at full speed across mini roundabouts it was unaware of, gets cross when you refuse to drive up a one-way street the wrong way and announces your arrival when you are still a quarter of a mile away.

The problem, of course, is that the existing traffic infrastructure isn’t designed for computers to navigate. By “infrastructure”, I mean things such as street signs, road markings, traffic lights and 1960s' policemen with white gloves. If someone had thought to locate wireless beacons in ten metre intervals along the kerb, it might be a different matter. Instead, someone seems to have installed a series of supermarket plastic bags and empty cans of Special Brew.

With a little experience, you come to realise that GPS mapping is largely fantasy and its comprehensive motoring directions can be outfoxed by little more than a traffic cone. At best, GPS directions are mere suggestions to help you along a general route.

I remember my Dad getting to grips with GPS when he bought a car with it built into the dashboard. He used to accept its instructions as orders and act on them immediately. All it had to do was announce “Turn left” and instead of waiting until the next junction, he’d be flying up someone’s driveway.

Mind you, I suspect the woman in my Garmin is doing it on purpose. It’s not unusual for her to instruct “Turn left. Turn left. Turn left. Turn left” in rapid succession, which, if obeyed, would have me driving literally in circles. Given that we’re talking about a relatively mature technology, is it any wonder that self-driving cars are struggling?

I warn you, it’s about to get worse, for self-driving cars are being aligned not so much with governmental investment policy regarding the nationwide rollout of roadside traffic technology as with the modern bullshitter’s cliché of choice: the Internet of Things.

Governments cock things up and award contracts in return for brown envelopes, but at least they’re governments. Generally speaking, even if politicians aren’t interested in the long term, they do tend to focus on the wide view: a government-backed self-driving traffic network might fall to bits after five years but at least it will probably work all over the country. But thanks to the wonderful trend of IoT arseness, what we’ll end up with is a disparate system of barely compatible and loosely interconnected but eminently “cool” yet murderous, hackable self-driving missiles on tyres.

Everything in IoT, you see, is treated as a unique branded device with its own proprietary user interface that connects to a bigger system rather than existing as an integral part of a whole. And you know what this means?

Logins. Oh yes, and passwords. And “cool” stuff such as voice control. For everything.

Just imagine the early morning commute to work. Waking up late because you set your alarm clock the night before using the wrong key codes, you throw on yesterday’s clothes (because you’ve forgotten today’s new login to access fresh clothes from your wardrobe), sip some water straight from a dripping tap in the kitchen (the fridge has crashed and the cupboard containing the glass tumblers is in the middle of a scheduled update; the cold water tap is OK but you omitted to recharge it last night) and finally dash outside after spending ten minutes reconfiguring the front door because you spelled its password wrong three times in a row.

You give the voice command to open the car door but it doesn’t recognise your strained, high-pitched yelling. Nor does it understand “Fucking open the fucking door you fucking fuck” but you make a mental note to change the command to precisely this over the weekend.

After some deep breaths, your vocal tones are accepted by the Siri function of your Fucking Fuckmobile and you’re in. Give it your destination and you’re on your way.

Since it’s a self-driving car, you use the commuting time to call ahead to tell your colleagues you’re running late. They tell you that the boss has convened an ad hoc early morning meeting. “Oh great,” you wail. “Give us a BREAK!”

Your face is very suddenly and painfully against the windscreen as your car has come to an emergency stop. What the heck? “Stupid car! You DRIVE LIKE A MANIAC.”

The back of your head is now thrown into rear windscreen as the car roars up to 150mph in three seconds. The vehicle’s sound system blares into life, racking the volume of random Strauss waltzes up to an ear-splitting eleven – dah dah dah dah whump whump whump whump. The car accelerates, decelerates, flashes its headlights at everyone and lurches violently from lane to lane. Other commuters sitting in their self-driving cars simply roll their eyes and mutter something about BMW drivers.

Your colleague is still on the phone and wants to know what all the noise is about. “I once bought an André Rieu album for my mum five years ago and my car has been automatically downloading this shit to my playlists ever since,” you explain. “It’s as if it wants to DRIVE ME ROUND THE BEND. Wait, no, aaaaaarrgh!”

The car rockets down the motorway slip road at 700mph and the G forces compress you sideways against the door. The Death Danube has been replaced by an audio book that Apple inserted unannounced and unsolicited into your library: Bono is now screaming his way through 256 Shades of Grey (The 8-bit Edition) at a million decibels. Fighting against the gravitational push, you crawl towards the sound system so that it might hear your voice commands over the din.

“Got to ... turn this ... damn thing off ... Stop! Pause! Come on, whatever. Rewind! EJECT!”

A moment later, you find yourself still strapped into your seat but situated in a nearby field with a huge silk parachute descending overhead. Your car speeds into the distance and will, one hopes, arrive in good time for your meeting. ®