At school I used to adore physics lessons. The laboratory was full of things that could be accelerated at great speed either into the teacher, when his back was turned, or more usually through the window.

In fact the only thing I loved more than physics was chemistry, because we could put acid in one another’s pockets and make bombs.

No, really. Put a tiny piece of sodium in a bit of water and you had a fizz that could blow up another boy’s homework. Put a lump of the stuff into a filled sink and you could take half of Derbyshire off the map. I used to sprinkle it in the teacher’s hair and hope for rain.

And as a result of chemistry, I was never caught smoking. “No sir. They’re not nicotine stains. My fingers are yellow because I spilt some potassium permanganate on them this morning.”

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Unfortunately this sort of thing is no longer allowed in school laboratories. All the dangerous liquids are kept under lock and key and no child is ever allowed to sprinkle polonium onto another boy’s lunch.

And the result is plain for all to see. Since 1996 entries for A-level physics are down by 5,000 and there have been 79 university science department closures. What’s more, in the next few years half of the nation’s physics teachers will retire, leaving a gap that cannot be filled.

What makes all this doubly alarming is that we are living in an increasingly technological world. The demand for phones that can play tunes, jet engines that run on manure and game consoles that mince pigeons is increasing at an exponential rate. And as it increases the number of people in Britain able to design and develop these new ideas is dwindling.

That’s why it is critical the Science Museum wins a forthcoming competition to get its hands on £50m from the Big Lottery. They’re up against, I should imagine, a collective of fair-trade vegetarians who want to build a nuclear free peace windmill in Scotland. And because of the way of the world these days, the wimmin will beat the blokes in cornish-pastie shoes who want to reignite Britain’s love affair with machines, technology and stuff that explodes.

Pity, because at the moment only 8% of the museum’s exhibits are on display. The rest is held in seven giant aircraft hangars on a bleak hillside just outside Swindon.

I went there last week and it’s a truly jaw-dropping experience. Just to the left of the creaking, rusted door, tucked away in an unlit corner, is the Blue Steel missile, Britain’s first nuke. And parked behind it is a two-stage Polaris rocket.

Then you’ve got the world’s first hovercraft, the mini submarine used in For Your Eyes Only and an early Hawk jet trainer, lost under the wings of a Comet airliner. Elsewhere there’s a huge 1930s hot metal printing press, several seriously important cars, and lots of early PCs: blue cabinets the size of small vans, some of which have the computing power of a modern-day wristwatch.

In another hangar there are miles of racks, stacked from floor to ceiling and stuffed with everything that was ever important. Honestly, I half expected to find the lost ark of the covenant in there.

It is properly spooky; like being in a 3-D reach out and touch pop-up book on all the stuff that changed our lives. And what made it even more eerie is this: I was the only person there.

The plan is to change that. The men in cornish-pastie shoes want the lottery cash so they can build an architectural wonder where all the quarter of a million exhibits can be displayed properly. A place that should help Britain’s schoolchildren understand that it won’t be environmentalists or politicians that’ll save the world from global warming. It’ll be a scientist.

If you want to ensure the Science Museum gets its cash and the windmill fails, go to www.voteinspired.org.uk and vote. I have.

And now let us move on to what happens when you let a bunch of nitwits take charge of the greenhouse gas debate. The G-Wiz. I have often mocked this little car for being slow, ugly, unsafe and hypocritical. But I have never driven one . . . until now.

First things first. It is very small. And it is even smaller than that when you’re inside. It is so small in fact that anyone over the age of four will find their left knee is jammed behind the windscreen washer switch, causing to it spray the windscreen constantly as you drive along.

Actually, that’s not true. You will only spray the windscreen until you get to a right-hand bend which, no matter how slowly you go, and believe me the G-Wiz goes very slowly indeed, will cause you to slide right across the car until you are sitting in the passenger seat.

In many ways this is better. Because while you can still easily reach and operate all the controls, other road users will assume you’re the passenger, and therefore that the stupid little car is not yours.

Sadly, however, the moment only lasts until you turn left. Because then you’ll slide back behind the wheel and the windscreen washing will start all over again.

Until you brake. Then your knee will shoot forwards into the radio release button, which will pop the fascia on to the floor.

Still, at least it has a radio, because otherwise luxuries are few and to be found only in the shape of two crummy cupholders and some leather-look fabric that is glued haphazardly to the door linings. Imagine a coal cellar and you have some idea of how well appointed this car is.

And so what about life in the back? Well, there are two seats back there but God has not yet designed a creature that could fit in them, and it’s pretty much the same story in the boot, which is the size of a mouse.

Speed. Well 0-60mph is impossible because it won’t do 60mph. In fact, this is the first car I’ve driven that seems to have no top speed at all. It’s like walking, only less comfortable.

Small wonder this is not classified as a car by the European Union. They call it a quadracycle, which means it can be sold without having to pass the usual safety tests. Pity, because a recent test by Top Gear Magazine found that it was unsafe at pretty much any of its speeds. All two of them.

Actually, I should be serious because boffins using the much respected Euro NCAP test procedures found a number of design flaws that could kill or maim. You may save the planet with this car. But you could well lose a leg in the process.

You will certainly lose all your friends because to justify your significant £7,000 purchase (£8,299 for the newer AC version), you will need to explain, loudly and often, that it uses no fuel, that you simply charge it up at night – using power from a power station incidentally – and you’re good to go 40 miles. Unless you use the lights. Or the radio. Or the washer jets. Which you will, a lot. In which case it’s only 30 miles, or maybe 20, before you coast to a halt . . . in the rain you caused by not buying a Range Rover.

There’s another thing, too. Children playing in the street can hear a Range Rover coming and know to get out of the way. The G-Wiz, on the other hand, is near silent, which means they may run in front of you to retrieve a lost ball. You may then hit them . . . causing your car to disintegrate and your legs to come off.

Even if I were a committed environmentalist I would not buy this car. It is too small, too dangerous and I’m sorry but it runs on juice from a power station, hardly a flower in the big green scheme of things.

What’s more, a few luvvies in London are not going to make the slightest bit of difference, even if it’s correct that cars are buggering up the ice pack. We will not be saved by going backwards. We will be saved by someone using technology to go forwards. We will be saved, in other words, by science, maths and the lost British art of invention.

Vital statistics

Model Reva G-Wiz DC (older version)

Motor 48V DC motor

Power 4.8kW continuous (13.1kW peak)

Torque 50 lb ft @ 2000rpm

Gearbox Single-speed automatic

Range Up to 40 miles (32, mixed roads)

C02 Equivalent of 63g/km if charged from fossil-fuel source

Acceleration n/a

Top speed 40mph

Price £6,999

Verdict Small thinking

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