Which performer in the classic La Dolce Vita stirs my heart the most: the amazing Anita Ekberg or the Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider driven by Marcello Mastroianni?

It's a close run thing but, in the end, I'd probably run with the car. It was (and still is) unabashedly feminine from its distinctive grille to its sensuous curves and is seduction on wheels.

The Alfa, like Kate, is gloriously petite even by the less extravagant motoring standards of the day, and makes the average modern ''sports car'' look like a cross between a B-double, an SUV and a weekend getaway vehicle for the SAS.

This, in turn, got me thinking back over more than three decades of car ownership and the fact that while I have always lusted after ''pretty'' cars most of the 25 to 30 road-registered vehicles that have passed through my hands have been blokey in character.

Big sixes (11) and V-8s (at least 6) have led the way with four cylinders (5) and a sole two-cylinder (not counting the motorbikes) bringing up the rear.

We won't go into what they've cost but, suffice it to say, former partners always had an easy comeback if I ever complained about the price of a handbag or the latest pair of shoes. Passion never comes cheap. Nor does addiction.

While I've never been one of those anthropomorphic gits who feels the need to pin a name on every motor vehicle that comes his or her way, it is an inescapable fact that cars have sexes and personalities. And, as is the case with human beings, these attributes are accentuated by the passage of time and maturity.

Some, like Stephen King's Christine and a HQ V8 Premier that almost ruined my life, may seem evil and perverse. Others, while admittedly imperfect, win your heart with their willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty even in the face of wanton neglect and outright abuse.

A particular favourite of mine, now retired and sleeping under a tree on a friend's farm in Victoria, is a 1983 Mercedes 380 SEL called ''WEZ'' (the first three letters of his number plate).

WEZ was an unfortunate purchase I initially regretted. Sucked in by an unbelievably low price and what later transpired to be a nice job of under-bonnet detailing that eliminated the evidence of numerous oil leaks, I was startled to discover early on in our relationship the 5.2 metre long German behemoth's appetite for engine oil was right up there with his 20 litres per 100 kilometres thirst for petrol.

A visit to my then mechanic, who has now bought a large stake in Apple and real estate on three continents with what he made from me over the years, revealed engine compression was non-existent and WEZ was in dire need of a $10,000 heart transplant.

Trouble was, given he was well on the way towards 500,000 kilometres and had obviously partied hard in his youth, this would have been like installing a new set of organs in 90-year-old, two-packet a day smoker with a galloping addiction to crack.

The only way I was going to get my $3000 worth was to drive him until he died.

That took way, way, way longer than I ever expected. My ageing storm trooper just wouldn't throw in the towel. Whenever I tramped it for overtaking manoeuvres on the Barton Highway and elsewhere his small capacity V-8 piled on the revs and launched in a manner that belied its failing health and the 1.8 tonnes of weight it was carrying.

Call me sentimental but it is hard not to love something (somebody?) that never gives up and never gives in.

Emden follow-up

My piece on the Canberra screening of a film of the epic journey the members of the Emden's shore party made back to Europe after the cruiser was sunk piqued the interest of Canberra Times correspondent and book reviewer Robert Wilson. He wrote a follow-up letter, published on Monday, and has been contacted by locals who have family connections with members of the crew of the original HMAS Sydney (not the one lost in WWII) and has promised to supply further details as they come to hand.