There’s no going back, or so they say. And when it comes to our last family car, there’s never been a truer example of dedication to progress — or at least to forward motion.

About 80 per cent of the time, a hopeless gearbox left it refusing to reverse.

Where other drivers circle around simply for somewhere to leave their vehicle, we were forced to seek parking spots from which we could cruise out again the only way we knew how: Forwards.

Journeys became a game in which you had to avoid any space — or indeed situation — that might require backing up.

If coaxed, it did sometimes co-operate. This was greeted with cries of amazed delight from both front and back seats: I boasted about having “the knack”.

But it’s been less knack and more knackered for a while. So this week, we finally gave up and traded it in.

The noise of the jamming gear stick (we were on our second gearbox) was so painful that passers-by would flinch and stare.

But even these social penalties have not been harsh enough to prevent us from putting up with the situation and adjusting our routes and behaviour.

The uncompromising attitude our venerable Volvo adopted seemed very much in tune with its era — Tony Blair boasted in 2003, the year of its manufacture: “I can only go one way, I’ve not got a reverse gear.”

But why did we endure over a year of this Blairite “forward, not back” intransigence?

Our car, to my mind, proves the theory that the human race is prepared to accept an unrecognised degree of downward convenience — and sometimes even to prefer it.

Being content with less is often the best use of our resources. While marketers may chivvy us to update or upgrade, many of us are absolutely fine with the same or less if it frees up time, money or energy for other priorities.

My favourite example is a friend in whose flat all the bulbs gradually blew except one. He was frantically busy and lived alone at the time. Rather than buy replacements, he carried the one functioning lamp from room to room.

Crazy or efficient? It’s a tough call.

Of course, adaptation works in both directions: Woe betide any politician who tries to deprive us of privileges we have become accustomed to.

But I feel greater affection for our species by dwelling on how well and how quickly we can cope with reduced circumstances.

Decrepitude in cars seems to bring out this trait in many of us.

A Twitter boast from radio host Matthew Stadlen about jammed windows and the vegetation growing inside his ancient VW Golf brought forth a litany of affectionate tributes to bottom-of-the-range motoring.

The driver of one car without wipers had to take a passenger along when it rained, to lean out and dry the windscreen with a tea towel.

She only threw in the aforementioned towel when, on World Book Day and dressed as a witch, she found herself sweeping aside snow with her broomstick.

A surprising number reported having to clamber through the hatchback or back seats to get to the wheel.

This became quite normal to them. One man was cultivating a pea plant growing out of his dashboard — snacks!

His delight is testament to our heroic resilience. We should revel in this tendency to do so well with a workaround.

Sadly, the pleasures of making do usually come to an end through disapproval; one person’s charming minor dysfunction is another’s insane compromise on safety or quality of life.

It was only a friend’s genuine shock at our unique no-reverse feature that finally forced me to admit we had to ditch the car.

We are now the proud possessors of a former fleet vehicle with blacked-out windows and not just a reverse gear but also a namby-pamby techno-luxury called a reversing camera. I don’t really like it.

But you see, you can get used to anything. FINANCIAL TIMES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Miranda Green is deputy opinion editor at Financial Times.