"Why must that ugly beast be upon our paddock? It stinks of diesel, it is filthy, it has no heater or handbrake and it makes a horrible clanking noise. Can one not weigh it in for scrap?" A constant refrain from Posh Bird. Not this morning when I used my lovely Landy to tow the Jag out of the drive, then pull her silly sports car out and spark up a fag, lean on the tailgate and watch her spin her little wheels, bless her. Six inches of snow and by God, I am not a swearing man, but I swear to fucking God that there is no better feeling on Gods green earth than buzzing past horrible little French cars in a big, fuck-off Fourby. Call me shallow, call me Ethal Merman if it'll make you happy, but heres nowt like driving a Landy in the snow. Weep and eat wormwood, hatchback scum.