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…but didn’t.

So today I had the good fortune of driving my bosses car for the day. Mine had an unscheduled service appointment and at short notice, his BMW was relinquished for my pleasure. Being a conservative chap with little sense of humour, I wiled away the miles thinking of ways to torment him.

How do you turn the traction control off?

What’s that funny clunking noise? You know, when you get to around 140mph, 142mph…

Where’s the cigarette lighter?

If you’re wondering what the funny smell is, I knocked over a bottle of scotch on the passenger seat.

Where’s the ashtray?

Just to let you know, the passenger-side airbag doesn’t work. Don’t worry, I’m fine, the driver-side activated.

Which leads me to… The hooker in the passenger seat didn’t fair too well, but I know a guy who can get the blood stains out.

The great thing about automatics is it frees your right hand up to do other things.

Which leads me to remind you about a guy I know who can get stains out.

It’s hair conditioner.

What are the seats upholstered with? It feels really nice against my bum.

The bad news is you need a new set of rear tyres. The good news is I won the race.

[One hour later (to imply I had driven across France in an hour)…]

Did you know the cup holders aren’t big enough for a standard-sized wine glass?

Those yellow cameras on the side of the road really like your car. They’ve taken three photos of it already.

Did you know they’ve installed ANPR in the red-light district?

‘Diesel’ is just the German translation for petrol, right? …98, 99, bang on!

Don’t worry about the severed hand in the glovebox, it’s nobody you know.

If you happen to look up in the rear-view mirror tomorrow and see a family of rabbits on the parcel shelf, don’t panic. You are not tripping. They are real.