Gondola...in 60 seconds

Earlier in these very pages you may have read my words singing the praises and heralding classic car ownership. Oh what it is to change your own spark plugs, the heady aromas of old engine old and Swarfega on a Sunday afternoon.

Why didn't someone shut me up?

I am now, yet again reeling from the cold slapped with a wet fish sting of reality. I am feeling decidedly light of wallet and probably devoid of Mini Cash ISA account, as I am yet again experiencing the cruel pain and resultant misery of an MOT failure. Only sweetened by the MOT tester saying my car 'was one of the best of it's age and model' he had seen in recent years and the almond croissant I had bought to keep me occupied as I gazed through the observation window of the MOT testing bay at my Alfa specialist. I sat back as the MOT tester began the sorry task of imparting the list of failures. And it was indeed a list.

To begin with, the Spider is in BIG trouble, as it would appear that she has been stealing away from the comfort of her garage in the wee small twilight hours to moonlight as a gondola on the Thames, or at least that is what the big rusty hole on her underside would have me believe. I'm not aware of Warner Bros auditioning automotive hopefuls for the part of Flintstone's Car in Italy, but at present my Spider would run away with that leading role.

Add to the list, the single numberplate light which for no apparent reason has like the floorpan been attacked by a bad case of metal worm, whilst it's neighbouring lights are as complete and untouched by the elements as the day they left Milan.

The suspension too has suffered, the blame for which I believe lies firmly with Mayor Ken and his penchance for speed restricting, spine jolting, suspension destroying speed humps.

Then there is the windscreen washer, which has to be tinkered with, pampered and cajouled to work as you can no longer purchase new jets. Several other electrical niggles later and the windscreen also requires replacement as it is resembling that of a UN Land Rovers' in the African desert. But this does bring about some benefit. The only screen available to me is a rather spanking tinted little number with built in radio ariel, which is fantastic and a bonus as I hadn't quite got round to buying a fiddly electronically telescopic rear wing mounted ariel for fear of having to spend far too long installing it.

So a week after this list of shame, I made the trek back to Alfa Aid this morning in glorious sunshine, berating the weather for the fact I was having to leave my Italian convertible in the garage for 'at least a week' by the end of which I'll have a wonderfully sound car, but probably monsoonical weather to drive it in.

I clambered into my trusty old shabby, solid, sales exec navy blue, air conditioned, velour seated Saab and pondered for a moment or two. It is right, classic cars are a very good investment...if you're an MOT tester or own a garage.