Mark Andrews: Could Herbie bring about the end of the world?

Ok, probably not. We're not exactly talking Von Ryan's Express, The Great Dictator or even Clockwork Orange.

My main reason for asking is that Brian Morrison seems to have had a similar experience. Except that while Herbie's defiant willpower helped racing driver Jim Douglas to victory in a pulsating rally around sun-kissed Monaco, Brian's MG took him on a tour of the traffic islands of the A803 out of Glasgow at speeds of up to 30mph.

Brian was driving home from work on Sunday night when his Chinese electric car decided it disapproved of his use of the brakes, so it disconnected them. It also refused to slow down when he stepped off the accelerator, forcing him to take a mystery tour of East Dunbartonshire, as he frantically looked for routes that avoided red traffic lights and pedestrian crossings.

After a short while, he called 999, prompting a police officer to pull up alongside him at a steady 30mph, He asked Brian to throw his ignition key into the police car, hoping it might cut off the power, but to no effect. After a prolonged low-speed police chase, one of the officers bravely decided to overtake Brian, and then slow down, so that he crashed gently into the back of his slow-moving van. Which conjures up images of the runaway milk float in Father Ted.

MG Motor UK says is taking the matter 'very seriously', and is 'making every effort to resolve matters quickly and comprehensively'. Which I am sure we all find very reassuring. Particularly as an expert in these things reckons that finding what went wrong with Brian's car is akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, given such vehicles typically have 100 million lines of software code.

Now, I'll admit, I'm a simple sort of guy. I don't even know what 'software code' is, let alone why a car would need 100 million of the things. Then again, I can't understand how the car that I bought 20 years ago, with a CD multichanger that allowed me to choose between six discs, is now considered old-fashioned, while the new one is considered state-of-the-art because it has a socket in the dashboard instead.

It's the same with washing machines. Back in the 80s, you could buy an automatic washing machine, that was made in Darlaston, with two or three settings and a mechanical timer. It would cost about two week's wages to buy, and you would also have to buy a separate tumble dryer or spinner that would set you back another week's pay. Leaving you too skint to buy any washing powder. But once you had overcome those hurdles, at least you could just switch it on, and it would do the job. And it would last 10 years without breaking down, because all there was to go wrong was a motor, heater and water pump.

Contrast that to the all-singing-and-dancing German washer-dryer I bought a couple of years ago.

I've never really worked out which of the countless programmes I should be using, but thought Eco 40-60 sounded nice and wholesome, and up until a couple of weeks ago it seemed to do the job. Then, last month, it decided it could no longer be bothered with drying my clothes, prompting an attempt to decipher the 'troubleshooting guide' in the online-only manual.

It was no help, of course. The advice was to call the manufacturer's helpline, which we all know would have involved a day off work and a visit from a very expensive repairman. Which was the very reason why I decided to replace my ancient Ariston in the first place.

T he next step was to do what I always do in these circumstances. Procrastinate and shout at people about why everything is so complicated.

During one of these rants that somebody suggested I tried 'Lurgs'. I'll admit, I didn't find the sound of this particularly alluring. Lurgs sounds like some kind of chest infection that has mutated into a computer virus, but I discovered he is actually a bloke who, for reasons unknown, makes online videos testing lawn mowers, dealing with blocked toilets, and telling you what to do if you have a Bosch 9/6 washer-dryer that leaves your clothes wringing wet.

He also tells you how to check the fuses on a Citroen Berlingo van, but I thought that one might be a bit niche for the average reader.

Anyhow, if you do have your problems with your washer-dryer, Lurgs suggests unplugging a hose at the bottom of the machine, allowing the water to pour out, and then borrowing your other half''s toothbrush to scrub the filter and powder draw. He actually made that joke four times, with Mrs Lurgs shouting at him each time for added comic effect.

Something tells me Lurgs won't be winning any comedy awards in the near future, but I have to grudgingly take my hat of to him and tell you that his advice appears to work.

And I found that strangely heartening. The other week, one of the world's leading experts in artificial intelligence warned that there was a real risk that the computer programmes we create today could one day turn on us and bring about the end of the world. A bit like Day of the Triffids, only a bit nerdier.

But while we shouldn't be complacent, can you honestly imagine a computer ever being sufficiently reliable to wipe out the human race? They can't even control the brakes on a cut-price SUV, let alone bring the world to destruction.

And if the robotic Triffids ever do arrive, I have every confidence that Lurgs will be there with a box of Daz automatic and his wife's toothbrush to fight them off.