LIFE is too predictable. Don’t get me wrong – I’m routine’s No1 fan. Without it I couldn’t function. But there are highways where the appearance of a stranger called Randomness in the rear-view mirror makes the drive worthwhile.

One example is the buying of cars. If, like me, you’re reluctant to hand over money for something which will only fall steeply in value, you need an appetite for the unexpected. You can't be too demanding about your next steed and must be prepared for the odd curveball. The world of bargain basement cars is riddled with them.

It’s a world I know well. Through almost two decades of buying cars I have never parted with more than three grand for one. I thought my depreciation allergy had reached its apogee with my last Saab 9-3 Viggen, an eBay gamble that cost £1900 and delivered 30,000 invigorating and comfortable miles of motoring, but less than two weeks ago I strode blithely into a new realm of thrift. And I didn’t see it coming.

It was a cursory email to an ex-colleague asking after the health of his car that lit the touchpaper. The next thing I know I am outside his double garage in the west end of Glasgow watching him guide out a maroon (sherry pearl, to be precise) Volkswagen Corrado powered by a two-litre, 16-valve engine with barely 95,000 miles on the clock. Bear in mind this car rolled out of the Karmann factory in Osnabruck 22 years ago.

David (his real name) points out a dent here, a scratch there. His wife hates it, he tells me, and driving it gives him cramp in his left leg. The outer rubber sill on the driver’s window keeps popping out of place. “The tyres are nothing fancy,” he adds, seemingly intent on dissuading me from owning one of the most handsome sports coupes ever built, not to mention one with no rust, a fresh MOT and hee-haw on the clock. For the purpose of clarity, dear reader, he wishes to sell the car. To me.

He eases the Corrado into the cramped streets of Hillhead and out through Partick on to the Clydeside Expressway, over the Kingston Bridge and along the M8. I soon learn the VW dislikes creases in the tarmac and absolutely loathes manhole covers, and it prefers jogging to sprinting. It sounds as if there are two dozen budgerigars blethering in the spare wheel compartment. But get this: the rear spoiler rises when you hit 50mph.

I don’t like the wheels or the tyres, the front fog lenses need replaced, the suspension needs money thrown at it and the rear windscreen wiper motor is goosed. A new alarm is required, the power steering pump sounds knackered and the bonnet soundproofing is beyond perished.

Six days later and David and I have struck a deal. The Rado is my latest sub-£3k acquisition. If my back goes again, I won’t be able to get in it or out of it. If I want to shift anything big then I can forget it. If I want to kick the bahoochie off it I’ll be disappointed.

Do you know what, though? It’s suave. It’s fun. Best of all, it came completely out of the blue.