We have, it seems, reached the point in human progress where the official advice is to treat your company car like a mildly untrustworthy acquaintance.
The modern car used to be a fairly simple thing. It had an engine, a radio with twiddly knobs or punchy buttons, and a glovebox full of things you did not remember putting there.
It did not, as a rule, have opinions. It did not collect data. And it certainly did not have the faint whiff of geopolitical intrigue about it. Now it does.
Because, in a move that feels like the opening scene of a rather expensive thriller, the Australian Government has started adding Chinese built electric cars to its official fleet.
Sensible, you might think. They are good cars. They are competitively priced. They help tick all the right environmental boxes.
The only slight wrinkle is that security officials have reportedly suggested that perhaps – just perhaps – it might be wise not to discuss anything terribly sensitive while sitting inside one.
Which is a wonderful sentence.
We have, it seems, reached the point in human progress where the official advice is to treat your company car like a mildly untrustworthy acquaintance. Fine for getting from A to B, less ideal for plotting anything involving national security or, one assumes, office gossip of a particularly juicy variety.
And yet, on they go. Into the fleet they roll. Quietly. Efficiently. With a full charge and, one imagines, a very good memory.
Naturally, this sort of thing could never happen in Britain. We are far too sensible for that. We invented common sense. It is practically a national export.
Except, of course, we are doing something even more interesting.
We have not dramatically embraced Chinese electric cars in Government fleets with a press release and a ribbon cutting ceremony. That would be far too obvious. Instead, we have adopted a more subtle approach, which is to acknowledge the risks in hushed tones while carrying on regardless.
In certain corners of the defence world, there are quiet instructions. Do not have sensitive conversations in certain vehicles. Be careful what you connect. Perhaps do not park too close to anything important.
It is all very discreet, very British, and faintly reminiscent of being told not to use the good china for everyday meals.
Meanwhile, out in the real world, the transition marches on. Fleets electrify. Procurement teams scan spreadsheets. And increasingly, whether anyone says it out loud or not, the supply chain leads in one very obvious direction.
Because here is the uncomfortable truth. Modern electric cars are not just cars. They are rolling collections of sensors, software, connectivity and data. They know where you are. They know where you have been. They know how you drive, when you charge, how long you stay, and quite possibly what you listened to on the way there.
In short, they are less like a Ford Cortina and more like a smartphone with doors. And we all know how relaxed people are about those.
The difference, of course, is that nobody expects their phone to be a private space. Your car, on the other hand, has always been exactly that. A sealed little world where conversations happen, thoughts are aired, and the occasional ill judged singing performance is unleashed without fear of consequence.
Now, we are being gently asked to reconsider that assumption.
Australia has at least had the sense to make the contradiction obvious. Add the cars, issue the warnings, and let everyone join the dots. Britain, by contrast, is doing what it does best, which is to manage the contradiction quietly and hope nobody notices that the left hand and the right hand are engaged in slightly different activities.
On the one hand, there is a perfectly reasonable desire to electrify fleets, reduce emissions and keep costs under control. On the other, there is a growing awareness that the vehicles enabling this transition are not neutral bits of machinery but complex, connected devices with all the baggage that entails.
Put the two together and you arrive at a rather peculiar destination.
A future in which the official car parc may be full of vehicles that are cleaner, quieter and more efficient than anything that came before, but also just a little bit harder to entirely trust.
Which leaves us with a question that would have sounded absurd not so long ago: When you get into your company car, who else is coming along for the ride?
Because the future of motoring may well be electric.
But it might also be listening.
