My Daddy has owned a Corniche for years. He bought it new in Chicago nearly twenty years ago, and has had it in the shop exactly one time, when it broke down on the Chicago Skyway in the middle of rush-hour traffic.

He called the dealer, who sent a closed truck to take the car away, and was given another car to drive while his was being repaired. The next morning, his car was parked in the driveway, the keys on the floor in the foyer after being dropped through the mail slot. When he called the dealer to find out what the bill would be, he was told that Rolls Royces don't break down, and that the dealer had no idea what my father was talking about. Now, THAT'S a warranty!

Well, Daddy's Corniche is now MY Corniche. Daddy bought a Jaguar, because of some sort of male late-mid-life thing, and now he prowls the boulevards of town late at night picking up sweet young things who are impressed by that sort of thing.

My Corniche is triple black, and while it is not the NEW Corniche, it is still a Corniche, nonetheless. When the top is folded up, one could not even tell that it is a convertible. The top has no folds or creases in it, giving away the fact that it folds down. But when the top is folded away under its cover, let the fun begin! That is the whole purpose of a convertible (drop-head coupe, as those fussy Brits insist upon saying).
The only problem I have, top up or down, is that I have difficulty seeing behind me from the mirrors. I am not the tallest girl in the city, and even with the drivers seat in the highest up position, I have a hard time seeing what is behind me.

Don't let anyone mislead you on this point. This car is quite large, and even though it is meant for fun in the sun, it is definitely NOT a sports car. Although it has mega-power,(as I understand it, the company declines to state just what the horse-power is), it is not a car to be driven like a Porsche. This car demands finesse and a respectful hand at the wheel. In return, I get the overwhelming joy of driving a hand-wrought work of art. The big leather seats warm instantly to my touch. The dash controls are the essence of simplicity. The Alpine stereo with short-wave puts me in touch with anyone anywhere from Denver to Kashgar. Even the shift lever does all the work for me, almost reading my mind as to what gear I wish to be in.

The only real problem I have had, and Cleo, my darling, wonderful Certified Mechanic, tells me that the new Corniches have solved it, is that the brakes have to be adjusted about twice per year. That sounds minor, but at around $350.00 per visit, it can get rather costly. Still, it is a small price to pay in retrospect. I also had an off-center pulley wheel (for lack of a better term) that I had to have repaired, but it has not happened again since.

My Daddy drove this car for two decades, and I think I shall also. I have never wanted to own another car. I pass the dealers' lots, with their rows and rows of shiny new vehicles, and I never give them a second glance. If there really is such a thing as driving satisfaction, then I am the living proof.