A week in the Lake District, then, and better still, just the two of us. That’s me and Denise, not me and the Clubman. OK, just the three of us – and, believe me, that’s the way it works best. The look of dread on the face of Denise’s 84-year-old mum just before she tried to extricate herself from the rear seats a few weeks ago still haunts me. With the rear seats folded flat, the Clubman is transformed into the sort of load-carrier that stuff can be chucked into without much thought as to how it’s arranged. Which, in turn, sets exactly the right carefree tone for a few days wandering lonely… no, wondering how Wordsworth ever got any work done.

More good news. The Clubman, although clearly optimised for B-road fun (it was brilliant on the violently twisty Hardknott Pass) is just about comfortable and quiet enough on the motorway to tuck away the miles without fatigue. It’s frugal, too, returning 34.6mpg for the round trip, which is a good 4mpg better than the running average. If it hadn’t been for the super-irritating facia ‘tizz’ that arrived about halfway through the stay, it would have been a perfect scorecard. Pretty good going, Clubman.