I'd always thought cars were just machines with a wheel at each corner, but this was lust. I drove it down the King's Road and bought the most expensive dress I'd ever bought, just to get used to the habit. The Z3 had an amazing effect on other people - well on men, anyway. I'd be chatted up or sung to at traffic lights. Other BMW drivers smirked, and I saw only one other red-haired woman driving one.

I had to dress up to drive it. People would come up and talk to me about the specifications. I learnt them all by heart. And taking the roof down was fantastic. After a drive, I'd end up looking like an unkempt Persian cat. I was told the Z3 suited me: 'It's a tart's car, Tessa.' Jealousy can be a funny thing. Now she is a bit battered and not worth stealing. She has been keyed, scraped and the window was even scored - that's Residents' Parking in Camden for you.

A Sainsbury's shop is a joke, I stuff all I can on to the passenger seat. The boot can't even hold a suitcase.

And I've never found a way to get out of it elegantly. I either 'pop' out, or scramble out as my boobs negotiate the steering wheel. I wouldn't change her for the world, though. I'll probably still be careering around in her when I'm 94 (with matching green hair).