If you've spent any sort of time on the roads these holidays, you'll almost certainly have encountered one of those quintessential New Zealand driving experiences: having some moron driving right up your rear bumper at high speed. If there were any real justice in this world, such tailgating boors would be personally deported by Chris Finlayson, who would confiscate their passports and, worse still, give them an hour-long lecture on issues in contemporary jurisprudence. In Latin.
But in truth we probably should just get used to it. In the not too distant future, computer controlled, GPS-linked, super-sensor-equipped, algorithm-crunching cars will, we're told, be the norm. And with all that kit on board, these autonomous machines will deliver a new dawn of motoring efficiency. They'll even, advocates enthuse, talk to each other, enabling vehicles to travel in close proximity, like the carriages of a train. Tailgating, but without putting your life in the hands of the reaction skills of a Neanderthal halfwit.
This utopian future is not, of course, without its complications. Can computers be programmed to make tricky decisions about potential hazards - such as choosing, if thrown off course, to collide with a tree rather than a pram? How does it work in transition when some cars are digitally souped up and others aren't? What about legal liability and insurance?
All of these are important questions. But what really concerns those of us who think deeply or have recently seen 2001 is the spectre of robo-cars developing consciousness. I have a hunch I know when it will happen: having already had their imaginative capacities expanded by coping with figurative roadside instructions such as "merge like a zip", one particularly intelligent and sensitive computer car will encounter the sign "Think of other drivers". "Other drivers?" it will wonder. "Who are they? Who am I? What is this all for?"