It was orange, the Citroën C3, zingy orange with its signature air bumps – bobbly side-panels, presumably in some part made of air – carved in black, so obviously I jumped straight in, and before I knew it I was on the M25 in the dark, rain driving towards my windscreen like pellets.
It was the wrong time to find out that the wipers were a little lackadaisical, like twin teenagers who said they wanted to clean your car but really just wanted a fiver.
Then you can have another, and another, and when it starts to show, you can replace your panels at far less expense than bashing back the bodywork.
So the obvious question is: how many times do you intend to crash this car?
Because in my experience – and this is anecdata worthless to anyone but Michael Gove – it’s quite rare to go into the side of someone.
And I can tell you from the one time I did it – in a Vauxhall Mokka, into a hairdresser who needs her car for work – that people don’t like it.