The classic Mini's diminutive stature makes the modern version look faintly ridiculous; its castor-sized 10in Minilites are dwarfed by the 18in JCW alloys, its tail-lights barely bumper-high to BMW's bulky reincarnation.

It's the same story inside; the classic Mini's near-vertical windscreen is just inches from your face, the famously bus-like steering wheel positioned between your knees, the shallow dashboard and wafer-thin door panels offering none of the new Mini's cocoon-like sense of safety and substance. That's most evident in the way that crumple zones, side-impact protection and airbags have pushed occupants into the centre of the car.

If you feel vulnerable in the old Mini, the payback is an undiluted sense of connectedness, for you don't so much make progress as bounce and dart your way down the road like a fugitive pinball. With around half the weight and power of the 21st century S Works, Webster's early example still feels sparky, and the gritty chirp of its straight-cut in-sump gearbox and hungry slurp of carburettors are as evocative and addictive as ever.

Of course, in the face of this the new car feels anodyne by comparison, but its stride is so much longer and its hit so much harder that it monsters the original car in objective terms. Subjectively, however, the little car remains one of the great motoring experiences and is an enduring lesson in less is more.

With RA53 KVK almost 500 miles overdue for its first proper service, it was a relief that Wollaston BMW could find us a slot at short notice. As expected, the service was handled in slick fashion, although the shamefully thick crust of bugs and brake dust that I'd left on it when I dropped the car off proved too much for Wollaston's usually immaculate post-service valet. Mind you, the fantastic TLC package meant the service was free, so I can't really complain.