The used car wormhole is the Evo Reader’s nemesis

Calculating the hours spent – no, not wasted – clicking and flicking through the classifieds is a number no one needs to know anything about other than it was all time very well spent.

Dreaming, fantasising, scheming and then borrowing someone’s fag packet to work the man maths out on is a pastime far more productive than, say, watching Extreme E wreak havoc across some of the most fragile landscapes on Earth in order to raise awareness of just how fragile these landscapes are.

Used car purchases are also more emotive than new ones. Actually, that’s not strictly true because buying new is still special for some, but it’s becoming a faceless transaction, one devoid of emotion, lacking the anticipation expected when buying something that you have invested so much of your time in researching, so much time sourcing the right car just for you. Selecting option packs and a monthly repayment plan isn’t quite the same.

The thrill of the chase has never been so gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable as when you’re in the process of buying a used car. It’s a unique experience. Losing hours on new-car configurators is a good way to avoid watching the Monaco Grand Prix, but it’s not the same as comparing physical cars that actually exist and could potentially be parked outside your house within the next few hours. Used car purchases, especially those that are more indulgent than they are necessary, are also more personal. More often than not there’s a backstory, a compelling reason and a justification that makes sense to the likes of you and me. Actions that make us all think, ‘You know what, I should do that too,’ when a friend or colleague takes the plunge. After all, life is too short to drive boring cars but it’s also long enough to regret doing so.

Now, will you excuse me while I refresh the Lotus Elise classifieds pages and delete the quote for the new kitchen.