IT IS good to be eco friendly.

I switch off electrical sockets. I don’t use heating unnecessarily.

I have even taken charge of sorting the used plastic bottles, glass and paper that form Mount Recycle, in our flat.

However, until someone sorts out the unreliable and overpriced public transport in the UK, I will not give up my car.

The Frog – my 14-year-old green Nissan Micra – has been with me since I passed my test four years ago.

It might not have electric windows, power steering, air conditioning or a CD player, but I love it. I wouldn’t swap it for a Ferrari.

My trusted steed was with me for my first solo drive around my home estate, where I was so scared I nearly took out four pedestrians and drove into the corner shop.

It panted up the highest Peak District roads in first gear, with four friends and me inside all praying we would make it.

The Frog delivered us to late night St Etienne gigs in Manchester and psychedelic Pram concerts in Barrow. It clocked the miles to family holidays in Anglesey, and traversed some of the country’s flakiest roads across the moors to the Bronte’s house in Haworth.

It never complained. Unlike the buses, it didn’t involve a three-hour wait at a rainy bus stop. Unlike the trains, it never got stuck in Preston for two hours because it had hit a cow.

In a rather unnerving conversation last week, a used car dealer told me the Frog would probably outlive me.

“Japanese,” he said knowingly, and gave me an approving nod.

However, last night it wouldn’t start, and after trying and trying and trying, I went into the house, phoned the RAC and stared at the wall.

It bounced back into life on the front drive an hour later, but that time was enough to remind me how much it has become a part of my twenties life.

As much as I want to protect the planet, I also want to travel in it and experience it. For now, the Frog is the only way to go.