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If I had all the money, I don’t think I’d buy a new Mercedes-Benz G-Class.

It’s a fine car, of course, but I don’t have the gall to mis-space the letters of my gel numberplates, and big alloys and low-profile tyres on serious 4x4s just look wrong to me.

But hello, here comes the new ‘Stronger than the 1980s’ special edition G-Class, which comes in two choice period colours, receives orange indicator repeaters, wears a black grille and light surround and runs on trad-looking 18in five-spoke wheels wearing chunky 265/60 R18 tyres.

What a difference some very small details can make. It has gone from a car that I’d dismiss very easily to one about which I think: ‘Don’t wrap it – I’ll drive it home.’

I’ve just been on the G-Class configurator (an activity plenty of people avoiding deadlines will be familiar with. There’s now a Morgan Supersport one, by the way), and it’s true that you can already spec classic-style ‘Manufaktur’ non-metallic colours – like sand, a dark green and two blues – on the G-Class.

You can colour the wheel arches and roof in black too. But still those options don’t quite transform the car like these limited-edition details do.

For one, I think the new paint colours are rather more ‘period’ (Mercedes even calls them ‘nostalgia colours’), but the rest is all about those three changes: repeaters, grille, wheels. Mostly the 18in wheels; the minimum standard wheel size on a new G-Class is otherwise 20in.

Is there another car to which three such small options could make such a grand difference?  I don’t think so. Retro design details on modern cars usually look like anomalies, but here, because the latest G-Class design is sufficiently close to the original anyway, it’s the other way around.

It’s a typically specified modern G-Class, in those satin greys that are so popular, and on the big 22in wheels that AMG models wear, that looks like a restomod – an elderly gentleman dressed in athleisure wear.

Some modifiers and restomodders of original Land Rover Defenders make similar mistakes, fitting weird LED headlight units, modern paint finishes and wheels that look far, far too big. The ‘Stronger than the 1980s’ G-Class is our old gent slipping back into his brogues and tweed. He looks right again.

I feel like we’ve talked around this retro subject before. Many car designers don’t like retro designs, because they’re in the business of making new things, not rehashing old ones.

But the G-Class isn’t a new car and some of the aesthetic options you can put on one feel like that white rendering and grey window framing people seem intent on putting on previously characterful houses.

Fashion aside, I think this new G-Class just looks more authentic, more fit for purpose. If one is going to have a big 4x4, why fit wheels and tyres that don’t suit off-roading and paint it such that you wouldn’t dare take it near a thorn bush?

In the past year, I’ve spent time in a new Land Rover Defender 130 on big, shiny black alloys and with satin black paint and in an Ineos Grenadier with neither of those things.

The Defender is the better car to drive: it’s calmer, more relaxing, more comfortable, quieter, brilliantly capable off road and tows for Britain. But I felt sufficiently less conspicuous in the Grenadier that, spec for spec, it’s the one I’d have.

Maybe I’ve never reached a stage in life where I don’t care what other people think. But cars, particularly those bought for a want and not a need, do say something about their owners, don’t they?

This G-Class looks like it has been specced and built and is owned for the reasons it was first intended. And I’d rather drive that, even if it’s a slightly ‘worse’ car than a regular one, which it might be.

Those tyres will probably give it less directional stability and certainly squidgier steering, and as they’re probably heavier might not even improve the ride. Does that make me shallow? Oh well.

The only part of a ‘modern’ G-Class I think I prefer in fact is the interior grab handle, because of the big ‘Stronger than the 1980s’ script on this special edition.

I couldn’t have that written so close to a stereo that would spend at least 70% of its time playing absolute 1980s bangers.

There’s a Morris Minor fan near where I live. He has a Traveller on his drive and a saloon on the road outside that doesn’t appear to have moved for some time because there’s an eco system developing underneath it.

Then a few weeks ago, while cycling past Hampton Court Palace, I saw what looked like the saloon motoring along the A308 in the direction of the M3. An impressive turnaround in fortune for a car that, I suspected, might never run again.

Except this wasn’t that Morris Minor. This one was being driven by a young-looking lad who, from the presence of an L-plate front and back, appeared to be learning to drive in it.

A few days later, I spotted the car parked outside the local doctor’s surgery. Further detective work revealed that the blue 1968 Morris Minor 1000 is the pride and joy of father Ed Wilson and his son Patrick.

Patrick is 17 years old and has been learning to drive over the past four months. First, if you believe the mass media, no youngsters are learning to drive these days, and second, if they are, they’re not likely to be learning in a 57-year-old classic.

I found the sight of young Patrick in his Morris Minor rather heart-warming.

So, Ed, why isn’t junior learning to drive in something more modern? Something a bit more conventional like a Volkswagen Polo or Ford Fiesta “Money,” says Ed. “At least that’s the primary reason.”

I’d heard via word of mouth that insuring young people to drive a classic car was far cheaper than for a modern car. That turned out to be true because Patrick, who is the policy holder on the Minor, with dad as a named driver, pays only £120 per year. 

"That’s for limited mileage, and only 1000 miles at that, but that’s adequate for us as we don’t go very far from home,” says Ed. “And although the premium will rise once he’s passed his test, it will still be far cheaper than for a modern car.”

Why a Morris Minor? “Well, my grandfather had one,” says Ed, “which added some appeal. We looked at a Traveller but the woodwork was really rotten so we gave that one a miss. Then we spotted this saloon that was for sale for £1500.

"As you can see, the paintwork is very dull and there is some surface rust in places, but structurally it’s pretty sound. The other advantage of this car is that it’s ULEZ-exempt, which is an important factor when you’re on a tight budget.”

Ed learned to drive at the age of 25 in a Ford Fiesta, a rather more sophisticated car than the Moggie. “It took me a while to adjust to driving the Minor,” he says, “but Patrick picked it up quicker than me.”

Patrick says: “Most of my friends are learning to drive, but nobody is driving a car as old as ours. They haven’t commented much on the Morris but my sister Poppy reckons that it’s a really cool car.”

Even for Ed, the Morris has features he had not encountered before. Such as a foot-operated dip switch. “I’ve never owned a car with a manual choke,” he says, “which has taken some mastering.”

But it’s not what the car has: it’s what it hasn’t that makes it interesting for a learner driver. Like synchromesh on first gear. “I’ve had to learn to think ahead,” says Patrick.

“I only drive the car in town but even so I have to think carefully when I’m coming up to a junction or making a manoeuvre. I don’t think I’d like to drive it on a motorway as it’s not fast enough and other traffic would be intimidating. I’ll be taking my test in a modern car.”

There’s no question in my mind that Patrick will be a better driver for learning in such an analogue car with no distractions.

He’ll be picking up skills that will be of great use to him throughout his driving life even if he does migrate to a modern car that will help steer and park for him, spot pedestrians and carry out emergency stops.

What did I learn in? A Morris Minor 1000 Traveller.