Thank Frankel It's Friday: Sometimes car sales aren't painful!

But the truth is that, by and large, for every old car that gets bought, another is sold. Indeed, last week I sold a car, and I’d like to talk about it. If you now conclude you’re being involuntarily roped into a post-sale therapy session for the sole benefit of my emotional well-being, I will understand entirely. But now it has gone, I hope how I felt about the process might be of some interest.

The car sold is, I mean was, my old Porsche 968 Sport and one reason it was less of a wrench to sell than it otherwise might have been is that I never intended to keep it for more than a few days. In one of my madder moves I bought it a couple of years back from a mate because Porsche wouldn’t let me drive its 918 Spyder hypercar unless I turned up in my own Porsche. So I bought it, intending to do the job and sell it before it got under my skin. Well that didn’t work – it was fabulous fun and even after the 918 didn’t feel like a silly joke. Under my skin it duly proceeded.

So I kept it, even though I didn’t really have the space for it and knew pressures of work would mean I’d not be able to use it as much as I’d like. But it was a good car both mechanically and structurally and I hoped that if I gave its cosmetics a cuddle, I’d be able to enjoy the process of making it look as nice on the surface as I knew it to be under the skin.

Which is precisely what happened. I gave it some paint, got some upholstery holes repaired, refurbed the wheels, put it on the correct tyres and so on. And it was lovely to see the car I always knew it to be start to emerge. It had cost some money, but I was sure it was all adding at least as much to its value. And for once I got that right too.

But when it was MOT time and I saw on the certificate how few miles had elapsed since the last I felt bad. Here was a great car, designed by some of the finest automotive minds for one purpose only, and I was failing it. It sat in my shed with my ancient Fiat 500, even older 2CV and one or two other unimportant indulgences, and while they were all used because they’re perfect for local trips to the school, the pub, the supermarket and so on, the 968 sat still because it’s the kind of car that’s not worth driving unless you’re going to do at least 100 miles.

So last week and lacking the time to show people around it, I sold it at auction. And the funny thing is I don’t miss it at all. It’s been gone several days now and I’ve had not one pang for it, not one moment of doubt that I’d done the right thing. I hope its new owner has all the fun from it I never managed, but I won’t miss it. Which tells me that just owning a great car is not enough: it has to fit your life. And if you don’t have the time to use it as intended, sell it to someone who does. Take it from someone who knows: you won’t regret it.