I have photos somewhere, I know I do, of my old Saab 9000. I loved that car, I loved its effortlessness, its total lack of brand stigma. I even loved its anaemic old two-litre non-turbocharged four cylinder engine. Yes, it was slower than the moon rising, but it was always with a pleasant, Saabey woofle from the exhaust as it dragged me down the road. This week I came awfully close to renewing myself as Pilot of a car Born From Jets.
