It is a Porsche Boxster which I bought new two years ago. It is a fantastic car to drive but a pain to own. Let me explain.
First of all it was an expensive car. The old Jeep I part-exchanged was worth less than the cost of the extras I ordered on the Porsche. Suddenly I was aware of the responsibility I was taking on, especially as I found myself agreeing with the salesman, who emphasised how important it was to have air conditioning in an open-topped car.
Then on the day I was due to collect it, the car had been lost. Somewhere between Germany and the UK, the dealer lost track of the trailer. Luckily, they managed to locate it before I was due to drive from London to Wales on a Friday evening.
Being rush hour, the M25 was gridlocked, but I didn't worry. The sun was shining, I was in a brand-new Porsche with the top down and I thought life couldn't get any better, especially when a limousine with girls in it pulled up next to me and they started waving. I waved back and then they shouted back a word that began with W and ended with R. It was my first, but not my last brush with Porsche envy.
The car is parked in the street, so I have come to terms with the fact that it is going to pick up some knocks and scratches, but watching a school bus drive down my narrow street and clip the door mirror was a nightmare. Up until then I had treated it like a precious toddler. Now I leave the scars on rather than havethem repaired.
Finally, a rash decision when I bought the Boxster came back to haunt me. The dealer had secured a series of registration plates with BOX on them. That sounded like a good idea, so P200 BOX became my registration. Then, in another traffic jam, some lads shouted to me: "Nice motor, shame about the reg number though." Why? "It reads `poo box', dunnit."
I love my Porsche, but hate the attention and worry that goes with it.
Tim Vincent presents `Fully Booked' on BBC2 on Sundays, from 9am to 12pm. He was speaking to James RuppertReuse content