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As I write, it is the weekend after the unveiling of new James Bond film No Time To Die, and less than 24 hours ago I was sitting in my local Showcase De Luxe cinema enjoying what, for my money, is Daniel Craig’s best outing as the famous MI6 agent. I’m not going to issue any major spoilers in this column, so don’t be scared of reading on if you haven’t watched it yet. But its attitude toward Bond cars has somewhat bewildered me.

Over the past 18 months, I haven’t been able to go out that much, I haven’t had the three foreign holidays that my wife and I treat ourselves to, and even Christmas was a muted affair due to the restrictions on movement. So as a result, my bank account is looking considerably healthier than it would normally do. After some discussion with my wife, we’ve decided to change both of our cars, which is something we usually only do once every five or six years.

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.