TODAY, an apology. To anyone recently frustrated behind a silver blue Honda with Insight Challenge on the side, sorry.
In the interests of miles per gallon glory I became as popular as a virus, making quite a few people jolly cross into the bargain, judging by hate postings on the anti-social networking site, Shut Your Facebook.
The Honda Insight is not bad looking, after the style of a Citroen C4 Coupe with the same split glass rear saving weight and restricting the rear view of drivers making uncompromising hand signals.
Because Honda has tucked the battery into the rear suspension there is plenty of boot space in what is a roomy, quiet and smooth car. The SE 1.3-litre automatic is obviously not quick, 12.5 seconds to 60mph, but well enough equipped and very cheap to run. Well that's the point isn't it?
Focal point of the Insight is an instrument cluster feeding a constant stream of consumption data, culminating in little green plants looking for all the world like cannabis, lighting up to reward the careful.
On the way to green nirvana there are details of the last three trips, exact consumption, when the battery is doing the powering and very possibly the wind speed on Mars. You know what to expect when the speedo is called an 'ambient meter'.
If hybrid technology chills your greenhouse, the Insight is comfortable, costs £35 to tax, extremely civilised and at £15,000, the cheapest of its kind.
Okay, so how did I become the star of a police speed awareness video.? Firstly it is important to imagine you spend most days dressed in beige driving to the garden centre. For maximum mpg it may just be helpful to put yourself in the frame of mind that you are actually dead.
In the interests of fairness I started out with the intention of sticking to the speed limit. However, soon the obsession to grow skunk in the instrument cluster took hold. I can tell you that over a week my computed average speed was 26mph. My dog can run faster.
The need to please the machine became all consuming, flicking between electronic measurements while willing red lights to change and longing for a rear view mirror which was not filled with a BMW badge. There were times when that cosseted average mpg figure dropped fractionally. And I could have actually cried.
Sorry but if this is how we save the sky from a lingering death count me out. When it comes to the final scene I'm with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
So after a week in the loser lane rubbing hard shoulders with the bewildered and frustrating Eddie Stobart drivers, what was the final score? Cue Ant and Dec, cue heavily pregnant pause... 59.2mpg, knocking the former man from the Mail on Sunday out of third spot and bettered by two chaps who both enjoyed 70mpg.
How they managed that I don't know but on their behalf I sincerely apologise.