In my defence, if such is needed, I own my VW Beetle because of my accountant.
“You’ve had a good year,” he said.
“You ought to have something to show for it rather than money in an investment.”
Fair enough. I was without a classic car at the time, having sold a Hillman Super Minx Convertible to a farmer in Australia.
He had bought two, so, in his words, there could be no argument with his wife about who was going to drive.
My year in business hadn’t been amazingly successful, but was good enough to invest £3000 in a classic.
There were only two rules about my choice: that it didn’t leak, and that it had a heater.
The 1974 VW Beetle ticked both boxes.