Motoring enthusiasts like you and I are by definition illogical creatures. We become so good at finding any shred of reason to justify our actions I am convinced that if bending over backwards to explain the most egregious decisions was an Olympic sport, we’d all be groaning under the weight of gold around our necks.
But in this particular discipline, I am proud to announce I have reached a level of mental gymnastics that would leave Simone Biles lost in wonder: after having just spent an awful amount of time and money on it, I’ve sold my BMW E46 M3.
It’s not that it was a bad car – far from it. I stand by all previous statements that the E46 M3 is one of the most well-rounded performance cars ever made. But stripped of daily driving duties, the M3 found itself in a weird place. For the first time, it had to compete for my attention against the rest of the fleet. Being the most grown-up of the bunch, this shouldn’t have been an issue, but I quickly realised I often yearned to drive the most childish cars, reaching for the keys of my Suzuki Cappuccino or Toyota Sera instead.
