Sometimes in life you realise you were born a little too late - well, 70-odd years too late - and somehow missed some real fun.
Riding along in an MG K3 replica on a warm Canberra day, it can only be imagined how much of a huge lark it would have been back when machines like this were every cashed-up young bloke's dream ride.
Now sadly us Gen Zedders are stuck with a whole lot of bland and flavourless cars. Some don't even have engines. And weirdly, people still like them. Who would have thought?
Riding in a restored MG - you may see plenty of them zipping around Canberra this weekend because there's a big centenary celebration on - is, I expect, a lot like riding a motorcycle.
A motorbike licence is still on my the wish list - at least the government do-gooders haven't taken that thrill away - but the old, handbuilt MG was exposed to all the elements, with just a tiny little piece of glass to deflect the rush of air over the hot bonnet.
Music system? Forget it. A cabin heater? Well, that's the turbulent heat rolling up my trouser legs from the hot engine and gearbox. Mixed in with a bit of radiant heat from the bitumen I can see from where the gearbox pokes inside the cabin.
And the ride quality would have kept all the chiropractors in England very busy. And did they even have chiropractors back then?
When the MG's owner Malcolm Robertson threw open the hinged bonnet, he pointed out these three metal things in a row attached to side of the engine, then launched into this lengthy explanation. Apparently these thingoes are called carburetors.
At that point, my eyes must have glazed over. "Well computers do all the work these days," he said.
There's so much to go wrong and to potentially injure you. And it's elbows in as a passenger, or you may bump the driver's gear operation.
There's a lot of raw gear-meshing type noise involved and an ever-present, but not unpleasant oil smell.
"Don't put your hand on the hot exhaust getting out," he warned.
How anyone survived like this driving around 80 years ago defies belief.
