The problem with driving a left-hand-drive car on the left side of the road--not the right--is that it becomes second nature too quickly, too easily.
Five miles out of the Manchester airport, only a couple of U-turns and traffic circles missed, the 2013 Subaru BRZ I'm about to flog up and down the southern two-thirds of the biggest British Isle has become compliant. Or maybe I have. At least, both halves of my brain are working together.
Merging into those traffic circles isn't so easy, you know. Looking over my right shoulder gets me a bearded guy obsessing on his wardrobe for the weekend's retro-hued Goodwood Revival. But still, all told, I'm in relative awe at my ability to blot out jet lag, the memory of just climbing out of a Dodge Dart hours before from the other side of the road--the other side of the ocean--and to blot out some horrible Graham Norton radio program while I should be passing several dozen bricks, just trying to keep this car in the proper lane.
What's the point of all this? I'm about to spend the next two full days drilling this BRZ north and south around England, with a co-driver that hasn't learned to drive stick. It'll be me alone in a back-to-basics sports car that's more akin to my old 1990 Miata than anything I've driven since--and a virtual twin to the Scion FR-S that left my driveway a few weeks back.
As luck would have it, the BRZ's the right kind of car for these left-brained roads--bare lane-and-a-half threads where precision's more important than raw speed. The BRZ takes aim, and has my attention.