I will forever remember the period from August to the end of January as a golden age in my classic ownership. Not happy in the slightest, but golden all the same. For those fleeting few months, the youngest car in my household was the 1982 Lotus Elite, but even that was never used four-up with the family, a burden that was shouldered solely by a 1968 Jensen and a 1965 Triumph.
It was a never-ending delight during this halcyon six months to honestly tell everyone (for which read "boast like a rather unpleasant idiot to people who simply weren't interested in the first place") that we did not have a modern car. "Oh how brave," they would say and myriad other bemused condemnations dressed up as compliments. I took them all as compliments anyway: as a classic fanatic, how could I take them otherwise?
I should point out also that the "modern" we had previous to that time was a charitable donation from my parents, an unwanted late 1980s Rover 216SLi, so it was hardly as if we were jacking in a brand-new people carrier in some great retro Luddite gesture. That said, I do remember being just a tiny bit overjoyed when the faithful old Rover (in fairness it had served us very well) failed its MoT and required more welding than it was worth. Actually, putting a new wiper blade on would have outstripped the value of the car so its fate was pretty much sealed from the outset.