One of my first cars was an orange 1976 Mini that was stolen - twice - by a 14-year-old fanatic of the British car.
The first time the underage driver stole it from outside my garage-less Auckland flat one night, he put a new stereo in it, upgraded my tyres and spray painted the sides of it with Michael Jackson song titles.
A police patrol found it, as well as a near car yard of stolen Minis outside the teen's home, and reunited me with my car - only to have the Mini fanatic steal it again that night ... and write it off in a joy ride alongside a railway track.
Over the years when I've tested Minis - including a 1993 Cooper and the second generation new-look Mini at its Spain launch - I've been wary of where I park it.
So with the gen-three Mini Cooper in my possession this week there was only place for it - doors locked inside my bolted double garage. I wasn't taking any chances.