IT’S surprising how many cars are named after animals … and equally surprising how few live up to the sometimes racy tag.

OK, I’ll be upfront. I drive a Rover 45. So to take the analogy down its ludicrous yet strangely logical line, it’s a stately octogenarian at the grand old age of 84.

And yet it’s the first car I’ve ever had that’s gone straight through its MOT without costing a stack of cash.

My MOT bill normally runs into hundreds of pounds and involves the kind of things I only hear about at this not so special time of year and have absolutely no idea what they do. What about the old but not so faithful track rod end – that’s normally a good one – and I’ve been through a few of those in my time.

“You track rod end’s gone mate,’’ the mechanic would say.

“Do I need to see a doctor?’’ I’d reply.

The bill was even less amusing if that’s at all possible.

But not this year. This year it’s all so different. All the Rover needed was its headlights lowering. Apparently it was staring at other cars in a funny way.

Now that’s not to say the car’s not without its problems. Just before Christmas it needed a new ignition barrel after it became hit and miss whether the key would turn – normally more miss than hit – and the sad and sorry end came in Sainsbury’s car park when no matter how much WD40 I sprayed in it wouldn’t move at all. Along came RAC man with the ‘special stuff’ to spray in and it worked … for a couple of days. A search on the internet turned up a new barrel in a Lancashire scrapyard and a garage in Huddersfield fitted it. Job sorted, eventually.

So the Rover can now be seen as a faithful old friend, a kind of Labrador on wheels. Friendly, not that quick and always thirsty.