About 40 years ago, my brothers and sisters and I used to get a lift in the back of my grandfather’s Land Rover – and we used to love it, because we could tell it was a fairly lethal way to travel. It was an ancient machine, so decrepit that the ignition key had been replaced by baler twine. The headlights were smashed. One front wheel arch was missing. The bumper was stoved in from the time the handbrake had come off and it ran down a hill into the house. The roof was squashed from the time it was nuzzled by a cow – I promise this is true – over a 10ft drop, and we found it on its back with all four wheels in the air.