Ah, psychological triggers. On my street a couple of days ago, I spotted a new car. It was hard to miss, a hulking great thing in darkish blue and black. To be frank, it was a nasty-looking machine, which research has revealed to be a Peugeot 408 hybrid. I didn't betake myself forthwith to my local Pug dealer to place an order. Instead, I was transported back to an editorial office in Kent in the late 1990s. I had a press release in my hand. ‘Blimey,’ I said, passing it to my editor. ‘This is a little bit different.’
At the time, the magazine was headed by a man older than me. His middle-class upbringing had bestowed upon him a penchant for vintage cars, the music of Pink Floyd, and…
