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To own a Jaguar has been a wish for many years and for almost that number of years felt to be one that would remain unfulfilled.
As with most of my ambitions, it was my wife, Jan, who eventually prompted me to an extravagance that I have never regretted.
My first Jaguar was a 1988 XJ6 2.9. White in colour and with a cloth interior the aficionado would say that is was barely a Jaguar at all but I loved it with a passion.
Jan had suggested that if I found a car that had a sunroof and low mileage for not more than £10,000, she would indulge my fancy. Surprisingly, such a car existed at the local Jaguar agent. Soon it was mine.
Two years later, approaching fifty, I had the sudden desire to return to motorcycling. Jan was not keen and even less so when I suggested that it would be sensible for me to use the motorcycle to go to work.
A visit to Chilterns in Bovingdon, another Jaguar agent, provided the diversionary tactic. "Wouldn't you like that sports car instead?" she remarked.
Soon the 1989 red 3.6 manual XJS was in my proud possession quickly bedecked with personalised plates - a delightfully ostentatious fiftieth birthday present from the entire family.
Some three years later, the car still provides as much pleasure as it did on that first day I drove, a touch nervously, around the M25 home.
Not the most practical of cars, it was never designed to accommodate Labradors, or, indeed, anybody who had an ambition to be a back street driver.
What is has is style.
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