Four years on my search for a sensible car to replace my Smart Roadster and two Mazda MX-5s has, by complete chance, led me to a Rover 200 Convertible. And now, in the month that I’ve now owned it, I know why the Rover marque died and why it never really had a chance.

If I tell people I own a metallic red convertible with new power roof,  new 17″ alloys fitted with new Pirelli tyres, tinted windows, upgraded stereo including bass box in the boot, tinted rear lights, an engine bay so meticulously looked after that it’s probably cleaner than new and an interior that’s spotless they look impressed. Then they ask what it is, and I tell them it’s  Rover, and the reaction is always a variation on a theme. The theme of ridicule – of me, of the car, of Rovers, and of the people who drive Rovers.

Children mock and look with embarrassed pity, adults are confused and dismissive. Those who know know only of the brand’s image mention the tacky grille and ask me when I’m getting the cushions for the rear parcel shelf. Those who know of the cars themselves mutter about the K-Series engine’s tendency to cook itself. Everyone looks surprised that I’m that age already and asks if I’ll be driving everywhere at 35mph from now on. Whatever the reaction it’s almost never positive and almost always utterly negative.

Compared to the Mazdas and the Smart, to the VW and even our Picasso, the Rover isn’t a great drive. The steering is light and vague, the body flexes (especially with the roof down), the gear change is woolly and the handling is typical front-drive hatch ordinary. It’s does nothing special, but it’s whilst it lacks dynamic greatness it is perfectly acceptable and  it’s in great condition and above all – it’s a convertible with four seats so there’s somewhere to put the forthcoming baby. It does the job that a car was always intended to do, and when the sun’s shining and the roof’s down it’s fine by me.

Maybe I’ve been spoiled. Three 2 seater roadsters and a VW Camper and people expect something flash from me. Maybe I expect something flash from me and the vibe I give out when I announce it’s a Rover sets it up for a mental beating. What is certain is that driving a Rover (and even a convertible one that’s been ‘enhanced’) is social death. Simple. And therefore in a world where image is all important the Rover brand had to die.

Just as you never realise how much you depend on something until it’s gone, I never realised how much Rover was hated until I owned one.