A Life in Cars…My car’s a Jaguar and I drive it rather fast.


I have totally buried the memories of the brief affair I had with the Jag. I had no right to as I was not a gangster, a train-robber or a minor member of the aristocracy. I was just a young copper with some spare money and a growing appreciation of motor vehicles. I don’t even know how I came to buy that particular make. It’s as if it simply conjured itself into being and placed itself right there in the shadows of my past. 

The first thing that I noticed about the Jaguar was that it different. It had leather seats. What’s my thing with leather?

I put it down to the smell, the reek of opulence, me getting above my station. I don’t know how I came to buy it (if such a short period from acquisition to sale could be classed as ownership). It was a private sale which must have meant that I saw it in the newspaper classifieds or sitting in a parking space with a sign in it’s window. The guy that I bought it from had a touch of the salesman about him and he told me a story relating to the ‘Jag’s’ history.

It had been owned last by a semi-famous footballer who had played for Arsenal. “Yeh, those footballers like a nice motor.” I wouldn’t say that that sold it for me, but I didn’t hesitate to buy it.


When I drove it back to the section-house, it was all that my heart desired. I had moved from blue jeans to tuxedo in no time at all. Americans have their dreams, us Brits have ours. The British dream is not so all-encompassing and relating to wealth or power, For over a thousand years we latent Anglo-Saxons have accepted our lot in life; we were born poor and disempowered and so we shall remain. Posh cars were for the very posh or lucky lottery winners. Austin, Ford or Vauxhall were our abundant choice. I had made it and I was now sitting at the wheel of a car that had a V6 engine, leather seats and trim, and a beautifully polished walnut dashboard. I didn’t notice the all-pervading tabacco smell. nobody did back then

My dream did not last long. It was a little more than a one night stand; it lasted almost ten days and nights before the engine started smoking too. I found out that the guy who had sold it to me had not been too honest. On the other side of the coin, it could be said that I was completely naive and trusting and deserving of whatever came my way. I had been tricked, a northern yokel tricked by a southern conman.

It took some time to get a response from the address that the conman lived at. I had gone to the place for over a week in order to complain at being duped. I had no right to complain, because I should have heeded the obvious, Buyer Beware! It didn’t stop me from seeking some redress. Finally, I knocked on the door in full regalia (police uniform) and he answered it. He gave me my money back and I left his posh heap on the forecourt of his flat.


My brief moment of having made it passed. I was carless for a week or two and the memory of unrequited luxury faded faster than a pair of Brutus jeans. My next car was a much sportier proposition.

11 thoughts on “A Life in Cars…My car’s a Jaguar and I drive it rather fast.

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  1. Now that was a lucky escape! Nothing like a uniform to raise the blood pressure ..
    While maybe not quite Morse, I bet you enjoyed every sit in it over those days.
    Each time I’ve sat in and feathered my right toe onto the pedal which releases all those horses from the Audi A8’s V8 … I cannot deny there is a ripple of pleasure throughout. Always best to keep an eye on the speedo as very easy to do 0-60 in not many seconds … and 60- (cough) in not many more.
    It goes next Wednesday and our year with the jet propelled sofa will come
    to an end.
    Cars are chapters; easier to change than spouses but keep the variety coming 😉

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Spitfire I’m hoping …. an ex had a red one which caught my attention before I saw him!
        My father had a Dolomite .. went well but looked like a doctor on call.
        TR6 would be the tops…. I await with interest!


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