Happy to see me or is that your car keys?

Today I'm carrying the keys to a Holden Commodore Omega in my front trouser pocket, and if I'm not careful about how I position them when I sit down, I'm afraid I might puncture my femoral artery and bleed to death on the office floor. Walking through the office, I need to be careful that I don't mislead colleagues as to my current state of arousal. I'm not that pleased to see them; it's just that I have yet another massive chunky car key in my pocket.

The modern car key (like, it seems everything else) is a vastly more complicated bit of kit than the car key of old. Those original simple slugs of steel have been superseded, and now your new car key is capable of identifying you as the driver from thirty paces, unlocking your choice of passenger and driver doors, turning on the lights, popping the boot, triggering the emergency alarm, and in convertibles, opening or closing the roof.

To protect us from car thieves, when unlocking your car, the modern car key first engages in a complex exchange of encrypted data with the security system. I don't pretend to understand how complex the circuitry is but I recall when my own European hot hatch was broken into, the dealer had to send for a new ignition system and key set from France because they just didn't have the equipment necessary to repair them in Australia.

All that techno-wizardry on a keyfob makes for a bulky package. Some manufacturers thankfully make a key that folds in and out at the touch of a button, so that while you're left with a nugget of plastic about the size of a compact mobile phone, at least it won't punch a hole in your leg or the expensive lining of your handbag.

However, those manufacturers who design down to a price, or those who sometimes neglect the little details, are increasingly likely to hand you something the size and mass of a screwdriver when you drive off the lot. I need a 'man bag' to keep my car key in now, or better still, a shoulder strap so I can carry it across my back like an M-16.

Carrying that monster bit of tech in the time-honoured front pocket of the weekday suit trousers is just asking for a gasp of pain. Dropping them in a handbag full of delicate secret women's business is going to end in tears. And if you read on page 5 one Sunday that the coroner is investigating my mystery death next to my car, you'll know it was probably because I tried to pull my keys out of my jeans in a hurry and instead dealt myself a fatal injury.

The police will recognise the familiar details at the scene: the car will be unlocked, the lights on, the doors open, the roof open, the trip computer readying a freshly-made cup of English Breakfast to sit steaming gently in the cup holder, but I will have passed on to a better, simpler place...

...with smaller keys.