50. The old Mercedes

Today we decided to send our lovely old Mercedes to the great dealership in the sky. It was about to cost more to mend than was sensible, and we had to let it go. But it's a sad day, because that car has done us proud.

It's 19 years old and it's got 155,000 miles on the clock. That's a lot of trips to Suffolk and Kent, and Primrose Hill. But it's also taken us in palatial splendour to North Norfolk, North Yorkshire, the Isle of Wight, Northern France and to the very tip of Cornwall. It has ferried us quietly and safely when we have been low and it's gone like a greased piglet when I've been cross, on my own, and amped up on Coca Cola (let's hope Herself doesn't read this or I won't be allowed to drive the new car).

It has coped with wardrobes, sofas and at one point an entire kitchen. It has coped with one small but hairy dog. It has taken a chunk out of my head, but it was my fault, and then it looked after my lovely friend who had to drive it home for me because I was talking more nonsense than usual and couldn't be trusted to drive. (Maybe it was trying to tell me something.)

It was always a great car to drive, fast and responsive but also solid and stately. Many a boy racer has pulled up beside it, given it the once over and discarded it scornfully, only to be left in its exhaust fumes on green. Ha!

It has been replaced by something almost as good. But somehow I doubt that in 10 years time when we come to give up this new car we will feel the same sorrow at the parting. This was a very special car, and we'll miss it.