IT appears that Philip Glenister may yet be sipping from the poisoned chalice that sits in the cupholder beside the Top Gear driving seat.

As reported in The Herald yesterday, the odds on his taking over from Jeremy Clarkson have come down from 10-1 to 2-1, pushing him ahead of Sue Perkins, Dermot O'Leary and a host of others.

I wish whoever lands the gig the best of luck. I know I couldn't do it - I don't have the required charm, chutzpah or right uppercut.

No, Top Gear isn't for me. For one thing, I'm an ignoramus when it comes to flash cars. I wouldn't know a Lamborghini from a lamb chop. But if the Beeb ever wants to bring out a programme called Second Gear, about second-hand cars, I'm your man. I know my onions - or in this case, bangers.

I'm not talking any of that nearly-new or pre-owned nonsense, mark you. Some of the cars I've owned were so old, they were haunted. Fred Flintstone was usually in the chain of ownership somewhere.

My first, acquired in the mid-1970s, was a 1961 VW Beetle, built in the days before seat belts were compulsory. She didn't have any. She also didn't have a heater, which made winter driving difficult - one hand on the wheel, the other constantly scraping at the inside of the windscreen. (She didn't fare well in the summer, either; being air-cooled, she couldn't cope with traffic jams.) I acquired her, at an auction, for £50. She gave a year's sterling service before being sold on, for the same price, to the local doctor.

Next up was a 1964 Hillman Minx. She also didn't have seat belts, but suffered from an additional handicap in that the driving seat wasn't anchored to the floor (it wasn't designed that way; the rear bolts were missing). Fierce braking had the undesired side-effect of putting the driver through the windscreen, so I soon learned to dab, rather than stamp on, the brakes.

As the years went by, so the bangers I bought came with more advanced technology. An Austin 1300 had syncromesh gears; a Vauxhall Viva had inertia-reel seat belts; a Morris Oxford had an ashtray in the driver's door, a Singer Gazelle had electric windscreen washers, a Hillman Hunter even boasted a radio.

I must have owned a dozen of these crocks. Each had their own character and foibles; I came to love them all, in a way one can't with today's technological marvels.

I'm told that some cars these days don't even have spare tyres; I've owned jalopies with starting handles. Hey, if I can't do this Second Gear thing, how about The Antiques Roadshow?