You don't read my posts very carefully.
Have a look again and I think you might understand the comparison.
Hint. Comfort is not high on the priority list when you want to enjoy something other than sleep.
Isn't driving on automatic a comfort driven decision?
I try, niz, I try, believe me.
Comfort is always high; only teenagers opt for the frantic fumble in the rumble seat. More sophisticated souls both understand and appreciate the value of ambience; that delightful dinner, the ever-so-light trace of Chanel 5 on the back of a slender neck, eyes that smile even when the lips are firm. Goddammit niz, I really do feel for you. On the other hand, I wouldn't mind being a teen again - at least, an over-eighteen teen. At the moment, I'm just thirty-nine and holding. But my grip's slipping...
Driving an automatic is capitulation; it's defeat at the hand of the skill that creates the buzz as you ride out of the corner with the power on, the Targa-top off and the breeze blowing the cobwebs out of your head and her hair into your partner's eyes and up over her head. But that's exaggeration: in the Fiat X1/9 there were no draughts: you could drive with the top stowed away even during a Scottish winter, the heater on and not a spangle of frost on your beard! A sensation to die for and, if you overcooked those curves with a mid-engine setup, die you well might, but so quickly you wouldn't notice. But you wouldn't go into a hedge sideways as in a Pug 205 (numéro sacré!) 1.9 GTI.
Ah, that Golden Age again!