0 to 60 in 60 years.

I have been wondering, of late, how I am going to spend some of the vast fortune that I will shortly accumulate from world-wide sales of the new iCan, aside from employing a topless wet-nurse on a beach in Tahiti.

Of course, a Ferrari will have to be one of the pure-breds in the stable, but the question is, which model? Stirling Moss (above) must be one of the few octogenarians for whom the old gripe about 'by the time they can afford one, they're too old to drive it' is not actually true, even though he spends most of his time racing lawn-mowers these days. I say hats off to him - most men of half his age would not have survived falling three floors down a lift-shaft with only a walking-stick stuck up their arse to show for it. I don't think he even broke a hip, which is what 99% of all pensioners do when gently falling over on the pavement here in the UK.

Her Indoors and I have a little fantasy scenario which we play out to amuse each other every now and then. It is this:

I win the Lottery (or something) and suddenly find myself in possession of a vast fortune. The first thing I do is ditch her, and take up with a blonde girl who is young enough to be my grand-daughter. Actually, this is the second thing I do - the first thing is to dye my white hair a jet-black. Having always thought that the one thing which sets wealthy men apart from poor ones is the habit of wearing a brand-new, hand-made, pure-white shirt every day, which is changed twice a day before the collar shows the first sign of dirt (that's 14 shirts a week), I start getting someone to buy shirts for me, and wear them in the described fashion.

I then buy a bright red, open-topped Ferrari and go for a spin in it with my new girlfriend on a hot summer's day.

As I am growling down a Bath street in the sunshine and Ferrari with my blonde girl beside me in the passenger seat (very slowly because the traffic in Bath is hellish), I catch sight of Her Indoors standing on the pavement and looking at me. She is laughing at me - yes laughing at me. Why? Because I am stuck in hot traffic and the dye from my hair is running down my face and all over my white shirt, making me look like the guy in the final scene of 'Death in Venice'.

I hope that - when the moment arrives - I will be a little more dignified when spending my hard-earned cash. Also, I think I will settle for an AC Cobra, but a repro not original - I'm far too old to have to deal with non-electronic ignition.