THE ARGUMENT
When someone asks me if I think cars have souls, the first thing I do (right after having a chuckle) is recall that blood-red Plymouth named Christine. You know, the one hellbent on killing school kids. Even in polar opposite Japan they have an animated TV series called Wangan Midnight in which a Datsun 240ZX repeatedly tries to end the life of its owner, also a school kid. I’m not even going to remind you about Knights Industry Two Thousand, or those silly Transformers, or that Steven King book starring the demonic trucks. No, my current concern has nothing to do with any of these sentient machines. Instead, humour for a second one of my rare touchy-feely moments.

THE CASE
Forget the whole ‘possessed’ angle. If you’ve ever named your car I won’t need to hammer the point home, but even I will admit to forming a bond with a car or two. A friend recently argued that they certainly have mood swings. Just like you and I, they have bad days, good days, and special days when they present their owner with unbridled driving pleasure. But on the odd occasion when it really matters, such as on the eve of a job interview or a particularly hot date, they let us, their masters, down. I know it should be to do with coincidence, random factors and influences. Hell, even the weather can determine the performance and demeanour of a vehicle running ye olde carburettors – so no surprise that we call these older cars ‘charismatic’.

But that’s not the whole story, and here I have to tread carefully. See, not too far back I owned a Jumbo Golf which gave me months of trouble-free motoring. But every time my wife needed its services the car would perform ritual suicide. It was the weirdest thing. First, the engine gave up and gushed oil all over its surrounds – in retrospect I think it was in mourning. That malaise was quickly repaired. Then the bonnet sprang up and tried to kill my vrou but only managed to obliterate the windscreen. And then a mounting undid itself, resulting in total exodus of the engine. I remember my distraught lady calling me, cellphone in one hand, tie-rod end in the other. That Golf did not like her. Mind you, my Mk3 Opel Astra treated me in similar fashion after I had neglected it for a couple of months. Payback was a large bill. Just curious coincidence? Not an easy question, so I dusted off my old physics textbooks and indulged in some lateral thinking.

THE THEORY
And I came up with this. We love our cars some of the time, adore them on occasion and mostly bathe them with mild affection. But on dark days we despise them, hate them, and even scream profanities at them. I’ve even heard of guys crashing their cars out of frustration.

All this light and dark energy has to go somewhere, as energy cannot be destroyed, only transformed, say the textbooks. Transformed into what you ask? Well, let’s call this manifestation of our residual emotion your car’s ‘soul’ in the absence of a better word. This soul is a product of your experiences with your car, nothing more and nothing less. Let’s say you have a particularly peaky relationship, one littered with both euphoric high notes and utter despair. And let’s pretend that the car in question is, just for this purpose, mind, an Alfa. And why shouldn’t it be: here is a brand we aver is brimming with soul, on the face of it to do with character rather than a collection of faults.

My theory suggests that what started out as a mildly erratically performing piece of metal has now developed all the traits it is traditionally known for, precisely as a result of our emotive reaction to these events. Conversely, perhaps all the good vibes bestowed upon Toyota Corollas by their owners with their ‘everything keeps going right’ mentality is exactly what keeps them doing just that.

We sometimes describe certain new cars on the market as lifeless, soulless, and devoid of any real character. And that is why we’re so happy to revert to ‘classic motoring’ – really another term for driving a car so old it’s broken down more times than you the owner cares to remember.

Perhaps those new cars just haven’t yet had the opportunity to break your heart, nor to excite you, reward you or share landmark memories with you. Either way, in case it really is a matter of getting out what you put in, I have purchased a luxury car valet kit with which I plan to pamper Helga and Akio this weekend. I’ll let you know how it pans out.