"I think Noel called his car a piece of junk"

HOME, 8am, and my husband has made fresh plans to dislocate his new hip.

Keen to up the odds for dislocation after his recent near-miss on the road-bike, he’s looking forward to a stretch of mountain-biking today — jumping around the bedroom in Lycra like a flea in a box, when our eldest son, who is trying to buy his first car, phones.

He doesn’t mind what it looks like. He just wants an A to B vehicle, he says, he has no shame.