I’ve never longed to own a classic or vintage car. Sure, I’ve often admired them from afar (with particular fondness for the Aston Martin DB4 and Mercedes 300SL) and silently congratulated those who put so much time and money into preserving them. But owning one? No thanks. Too complicated, too risky, too expensive, and too time-consuming. So how did I end up with a 1972 Triumph TR6 in British racing green? Happenstance. Chance. Luck (good or bad, it remains to be seen). And, of course, never having wanted such a car, I’m now a zealous convert, speeding around with the top down and generally behaving like a careless teenager or, even worse, like an aging and disreputable “petrol head”.

This phase of innocent enthusiasm will pass and might be replaced by a new phase marked by remorse and incredulity. Who knows? For now, I’m smitten by a beautiful example of British design and engineering from a bygone age. The previous owner, a friend of mine, cared for the vehicle for many years. It’s now my turn to be its custodian – perhaps the most unlikely in its history – as it approaches its 50th birthday.