LUCY PORTER

I am the world’s worst driver. I’m incredibly hesitant and nervous. Seasons can change, governments crumble and species die out in the time it takes me to make a right turn at a tricky junction. I think it’s because I learnt to drive on the mean streets of south London – only Cairo at rush hour is a more terrifying driving environment.

My first car was a banana yellow Mini Metro. It had a brown interior, and there was a tape of the crooner Jim Reeves stuck in the cassette deck when I bought it that I never managed to dislodge. The local youths broke into it about once every two weeks. I got rid of it after a year because I was sick of having to get the bus to the estate in Streatham where my Metro inevitably ended up. However, I did quite like the idea of joyriders being forced to listen to Distant Drums.

Lucy Porter’s Love-In is at the Pleasance Courtyard. Contact 0131 556 6550

ROB DEERING I’ve filled a diesel tank to the brim with unleaded petrol twice in my life, which I think makes me a bona fide idiot.

The first time was late at night on a rainy motorway in Belgium – who could ask for anything more? The only thing that stopped my friend from grabbing me by the throat was the sight of the fat hairy guy who pumped our unwanted unleaded out of the tank and on to a car park while smoking. We chortled briefly then stood in the rain for hours.

The second time was the direct result of a kiss. I was granted a surprise Christmas smooch by a young lady and responded like a cartoon character hit with a plank: blank, serene expression, small twittering birds flying around. Less than an hour later I was at the pumps and Bob’s your major automotive problem.

That was in London. An AA guy loaded the car onto a transporter, drove it to Leatherhead, Surrey, and removed the fuel tank. It was the only place in the southeast licensed to dispose of fuel.

Rob Deering will be performing Charmageddon at the Underbelly’s Baby Belly. For tickets call 0870 745 3083 or visit www.robdeering.com

CLARE WARDE

It’s 1983, we are on the M25 and I’m sharing the back seat of Dad’s Ford Sierra with my three sisters and their “my little ponies”. Dad is shouting because I’ve got a McDonald’s milkshake, which I am refusing to let my siblings drink, due to the Large Family Food and Drink Code of Conduct: under no circumstances do you share.

Exasperated, Dad demands I give him the shake, which I do. Driving at 60mph he winds down the window, holds the cup and chucks the milkshake out, the intention being for the shake to hit the road rather than his face, which it does in a hilarious custard-pie type way.

I cry with laughter. Ciara wees with laughter. Dad’s pride and his car seat cover take weeks to recover.

Clare Warde’s The Runaway Lovers will be performed at the Pleasance Courtyard

ALEX HORNE

I love driving but I know nothing about mechanics. I do, however, have a suggestion about how to improve cars for noncar people like me. It involves one of the dials on the dashboard. And while I’m here, why is it still called a “dashboard”? It’s not a board and it no longer protects the driver from “dashing” mud. “Control panel” is better. And “wing mirrors”? It’s not a plane! “Side mirrors” please.

“Glove compartment” is a ridiculous name for something that should be called “miscellaneous tray” or “rubbish bin”. Then there’s “boot”. Better than “trunk”, yes, but surely it’s “dumping cabin” or, occasionally, “body box”.

Then the dials themselves. “Miles per hour” I can cope with. That I like. But “revs per minute”? I have no idea why this is on my driving desk. I sometimes look at this by accident and see I’m doing 2000rpm or 3000rpm and this information means nothing to me. Sometimes it goes red and I think “have I won?”

All you need is a picture of a mechanic with a good honest manly face and enormous hands, doing a thumbs up if everything’s fine. And a thumbs down if you’ve got a problem. There. Good. Thank you.

Alex Horne will be performing Birdwatching at the Pleasance Above. For tickets call 0131 556 6550 or visit www.alexhorne.com details

JANICE PHAYRE

No matter how cool you are, and I am very cool, you have days when you are a nerd.

The other day I wandered down to my car to find it covered in bird s***. I’m not being girlie about this – it wasn’t just one big bird poo. I mean my car was covered in bird poo. If elephants could fly . . . It’s like there was a bird guano convention and it had gone really well. I’ve decided, and I’m serious about this, that I’m never parking in London Zoo aviary again.

Janice Phayre will perform With Occasional Showers at Holyrood Too @ Faith

ANDY ZALTZMAN

I can make a few claims to being a green motorist. I walk to and from my petrol station, and carry my fuel home in a special bucket. And I would cycle more, but I find the prospect of death unappealing at this stage in my life.

And some of my efforts to ecologise my motoring habits have been dashed on the pitiless cliffs of bureaucracy.

For example, my defence against a speeding ticket for doing 56mph in a 30mph limit outside a school – that I was driving at the most fuel-efficient possible speed in an effort to ensure that the children had a planet left in which to grow up – was peremptorily rejected.

One of the problems with places like the world is that governments and industry sometimes have to take the lead. Without this, humble eco-individuals can feel as if they are merely urinating into a rumbling volcano. Yes, it will make them feel better, but it will do little to mitigate the eventual eruption of doom.

While I realise I must change my ways or my daughter may have some awkward questions to shout at me when she and her children are living up a tree with a polar bear, the feeling remains that if the car industry had devoted half the time and money to developing electric cars that it has to eclectic cars, the world might be less close to the Precipice of Ecogeddon.

Andy Zaltzman will be performing Political Animal at the Underbelly White Belly. For tickets call 0870 745 3083

Heard the one...

A man went into a garage and said “Have you got a wiper blade for my classic MG?” The garage owner looked at the half completed project on the forecourt and said: “Okay. Seems like a fair deal.”

My wife phoned and said, “I’ve got water in the carburettor.” Impressed by her knowledge I asked, “Where’s the car?” She said, “In the river.”

Why do Ford GTs have heated rear windscreens? To keep your hands warm when you push them. (Submitted by JC, Chipping Norton).

It is said that if you line up all the cars in the world, someone will try to overtake them.

Bob was driving to work when a truck hit his car and knocked him out. When revived by rescuers, he put up such a struggle he had to be tranquillised. He explained, “I woke up in front of a huge flashing sign, welcoming me to hell.” Turned out someone was standing in front of the “s” on the “Shell” sign.