Features

One of the things I love dearly about my old Bentley is that absolutely everything on it works. Open the bonnet, for example, and the little engine inspection light comes on. What are the chances of that happening on a 25-year-old wedding car?

There's more. The little bristle brushes that sweep the headlights when the windscreen wipers are used (but only if the lights are on) are working as well.

On every other T2 or Silver Shadow II I've looked at, the motors in these have long since been stopped with rust, and the owner hasn't bothered to replace them because they're hideously expensive. But I have, and now schoolchildren are mesmerised by the pixie inside the car who cleans my lamps.

The windows go up and down at the correct speed, which is unusual in this or any old car. All the instruments work and the electric seats work.

The central locking works, the air-conditioning works, the jack works, the glovebox works, and even the reading light, positioned over the front passenger's shoulder and operated by a miniature Edwardian light switch on the dashboard, works.

And now I've discovered that if I pull the rotary knob for the headlights until it clicks, a second map-reading light above my shoulder comes on as well. So even things I didn't know about turn out to be in perfect working order. It's a miracle.

But, of course, it's never normally like this in the world of old cars.

I've never climbed aboard something like an MGB and not been met with a litany of feeble excuses as to why this bit of trim is missing or that window winder is broken or my feet are perched on a 'spare gearbox' that the owner is about to fit, honest. It's pathetic.

And you're about as likely to climb aboard a fully functioning old Jag as you are to find a minicab that smells agreeable. I know this because I've just sold one, and I advertised it as needing 'some minor fettling', which is old-car adspeak for 'some things don't work properly.'

I realise that the classic car set will claim that tinkering with the car is part of the fun of owning it, but I can't help thinking that the time spent tinkering would actually be better spent mending the bloody thing.