At the other end of the scale from the Mini, a Buick is forever burnt into my mind. It was an Electra 225 in white, and it tried to kill me....twice. To quote the late, great Uncle Tom McCahill, it was "as smooth as a pocketfull of Jell-O". By the time I took on this dinosaur it was well past its best, and it contrived to cut out just as I was driving into a filling station. Instantly, the brakes and steering demonstrated solidarity with their brother, the engine. By some miracle, I JUST avoided demolition of a line of fuel pumps. After its feed, all was peaceful for a couple of weeks. And then, that homicidal nature re-emerged. Heading out of Altrincham (Cheshire) and approaching the Lymm circle I had stoked it up to about 65 or 70mph when the brake servo gave up. With both feet stamped on the brake pedal and copious windmilling at the steering wheel we broadsided onto the roundabout and into a supremely serendipitous gap in the traffic. Under the circumstances, the handling was really impessive. With composure regained we trundled calmly on our way, and the servo gave no further trouble. For some reason, my passenger, whose eyes were bulging like a frog's, remained silent for quite some time.