There was only one non-schedule warranty item on the list and that was to de-sensitise the alarm. I assumed it would be the work of a moment with a screwdriver, but not so. Andy Morgan, who'd offered to drop the car in for its while-u-wait service, waited patiently as Wests' mechanics removed the whole of the dashboard...

The bill came to ΂£184.24, which included ΂£117.50 of labour, six litres of oil (΂£31.73), a new pollen filter (΂£16.79) and two cans of tyre foam to replace the ones we used in a vain attempt to fix the puncture (΂£4.86 each). I'm glad to report that the Clio's alarm no longer goes off when someone looks at it in a funny way or when a cat farts, and that the invasive surgery has not provoked any facia rattles.

I mentioned the scary bit earlier and I wasn't referring to the cost of the tyres. Other owners would do well to take heed. This is the scenario: I'm racing to set up a slalom test for our cover story before the curfew at the Bedford Autodrome; placing a cone, hopping back in the Clio and moving down the track, placing another, etc. I've just placed the last one when snapper Kenny P arrives. Pleasantries exchanged, I tell him I'd just like to run the Renault through once to be sure it's all measured out correctly, grab the door handle of the Clio and... the door is locked. This is a bit of a bugger because the keys are inside and the engine's running.

Mild panic. Time is a-ticking and the Clio's stuck in the middle of the slalom. How did it happen? I've no idea, but Kenny P has a plan and ten minutes later, with a wire coat hanger and a brolly, the doors are unlocked. I never normally leave it running but I'm now paranoid about leaving the keys in it at all.

I still love it to bits, though, and so does everyone who drives it. I wouldn't swap it for anything else on the fleet and I can't see any car on the horizon that would adequately replace it.