Old people. In some respects I do of course hope to be an old bloke one day. No-one wants to take an early exit from the motorway of life. However getting old does worry me. I know I'll lose my mind, my teeth, my hair, my eyesight, all sense of priority yet at least I'll still be allowed to drive eh?

In fact I'm terrified. Forty years from now I'll be driving whatever MG Rover have dreamt up as the modern successor to the Maestro, then boring my dwindling numbers of deaf and doddery old friends about what a good car it is. I'll have ordered it in hearing-aid beige to go with my latest cardigan and left the plastic covers on the seats to preserve it for the luckless sap who'll inherit it. Thankfully they don't make those bizarre blue three-wheeled wrinkly-wagons anymore, so at least I won't be relegated to driving one of those.

Val Doonican

It's depressing, we're all stuck on the one way street of life and will grow old and weary and there's nothing we can do about it. Don't delude yourself that you'll be cool in your old age. Being cool and over seventy means being Val Doonican. Scary huh?

I know that in my twilight years I'll be regularly performing the comical entry and exit from my car. Battling with my sticks I'll lower myself into my MG Saga, spilling boiled sweets all around. After pausing for breath and my fifteenth cup of tea I'll head out onto the busy roads, safe in the knowledge that I haven't got a clue what's going on around me. With my body ravaged by years of alcohol my pea size brain will rattle around in my greying skull, unable to comprehend the hazards out there - what a relief. Safely operating in slow motion I'll be due another month's pension before I reach the Post Office.

Knitters

It's about time manufacturers started thinking about the older generations. Aside from the poverty stricken pensioners, there's a healthy herd of knitters and gardeners with a few quid stuck under their tartan bedspreads. Lada did a roaring trade selling four wheeled commodes for many years and there's a gap in the market now.

A few enhancements are in order of course. I'd like to suggest a Thunderbirds entry into the car via the sunroof. I'm sure a simple extension of the stair lift would suffice. Once in my pension-wagon I'd like a small nasal trimmer atop the steering wheel and pedals that I can hook my slippers into. Together with a coat stand, a curtain to pull behind the door and air-conditioning that spews out a delicate fragrance of 'old people smell' I reckon I'd be right at home - instead of in a home.

Pensioner Powered

As for the outside of the car, I'd get GPs to prescribe the colour according to how near life's hard shoulder you are, giving other motorists a visual clue to your incompetence - that and the orange flashing lights and 'Pensioner Powered' sticker. Starting from a bold white, you'd know how long you've got according to how beige the doctor prescribes. Like your attire, you should gradually fade away with duller and duller colours.

Finally, beware as you find your self driving slower and slower. The 5mph convoy requires a black car. Not cool.