On one of the first decent hot sunny fridays of the year, I pulled into a petrol station. Filling up there was; an old fat bald man in a gold volvo convertable with the roof down, an old fat bald man in a dark blue Bentley convertable with the roof down, and me, a young fat hairy man in an old battered series 2a with no roof at all. I believe my choice of transport (not to mention my youth and hairsuit bonce) meant I was the only one there with any credibility. I bet they don't get nods of approval from complete strangers everywhere they go or people praise their car in carparks. I bet neither of their cars will be everyday use after nearly fifty years and beyond. I bet they can't be fixed with parts that cost only a few pounds and need little more than a box of spanners. Most of all, I bet that they miss out on the thrill of owning a series landrover that is the feeling of embarking on an adventurous expedition every time you start it up, even if you are just nipping out to get some milk.