The very best of British luxury

A decent crowd has gathered around the Wraith as I approach it for the first time. The crowd is well lubricated and has decided, maybe fairly, that the scruffy man-child brandishing the key to a two-tone, houseboat-sized coupe is a fair target for abuse. A phrase rhyming closely with ‘dosh banker' rings loud.

It is important in these situations to remain calm and confident. I stride to the driver's door and extend my hand to discover someone has moved the doorhandle. A couple of seconds too late, I remember the Wraith has rear-hinged suicide doors. Casually, I wander to the other end of the Wraith's enormodoor and heave it open... only to find the steering wheel is on the opposite side of the car. Bloody left-hookers. Pretending I knew that all along and was, y'know, just checking the passenger footwell, I saunter round to the left-hand side of the Wraith. "Where's your butler?" enquires one wag. I'm wondering much the same.