Just how hung up are you about the way your car looks? And when does pride in having a smartly presented vehicle threaten to overwhelm your actual enjoyment of it?
That really is the nub, isn't it? Do you want to sit and look at your car, admire its beauty and perfection? Or do you want to actually drive it and enjoy what it's built to do? Because, at times, it seems the two are mutually exclusive when choosing your position on a road down which madness lies.
The eternal buffing/driving dilemma...
It's an argument that's raged in classic car circles for years of course. What's better - an original car that's picked up a few nicks and scratches long the way and can tell a story? Or one that's been restored to 'better than perfect' and is more immaculately presented than even the day it left the production line?
I faced a slightly more prosaic version of this dilemma myself a few years back when I bought my Clio 172 Cup. It was the realisation of a long-held dream and, obviously, I wanted the best example I could find. I lucked out and got just that - a low miles, unmolested car in remarkably smart condition. And I was delighted. And then came the opportunity for trackdays and other fun and frolics. And though fear of tainting it didn't exactly hold me back even my usually unshakable denial started to find cracks. Should I really be putting such a nice example at risk? Meeting a chap at a Renaultsport trackday who'd spent a quarter of what I had on a battered Phase 1, stripped it, tweaked it on the cheap and ragged it safe in the knowledge that if the worse happened he'd have lost little over a grand sealed it. I'd fallen into my own trap. I'd bought a car too nice to use.
A dirty car always has a story to tell
And, speaking personally, my heart sinks when I hear the word 'detailing' and the implication that this might be more important than 'driving'. Begging the question, what is acceptable patina? The little scrape on the Clio's mirror casing picked up when I took a literal approach to clipping apex on one of Cadwell's corner markers was a source of quiet pride. And yet that tiny, barely perceptable ding left by some git's door in the supermarket carpark had me ready to stalk the aisles with a baseball bat looking for the culprit.
Everyone will have their own boundaries - this isn't about saying who's right and who's wrong. But, with a carefully garaged car surrounded by buffing cloths and lotions giving me the kind of angst that sees me parking in the furthest reaches of supermarket car parks to avoid door clanging dings, I can't help but admire those with a more cavalier attitude. Liberation from the yoke of cleanliness can come from owning a car cheap or battered enough for it not to matter, or from just being resolute in not giving a flying one. But I'll always admire a fast car streaked in grime, splattered in flies and wearing its war wounds with pride more than one buffed to 'perfection'. Put simply, whose story would you rather hear?