Once upon a time the great car registration plate change was a time for celebrations and street parties.

Every 1 August there would be much jubilation throughout the nation as Bs turned to Cs. The alphabet was never more interesting and probably contributed to the numeracy and literacy of several generations.

Spotting the latest plate was a tremendously exciting thing to do, especially for youngsters in the days before the Internet, smartphones and easy availability of recreational drugs.

So far though – I was out in the dark on 1 September and did some general errands early today – I haven’t seen one 63-plate vehicle.

I have extensive motoring to do tomorrow, so I am pretty certain I will see something on my motorway travels . Three days is too long, but more to the point I couldn’t care less. The whole system is utterly uncharismatic.

I understand why the whole system was changed, but I can’t fathom why it had to become such a dreary and often confusing alignment of digits and letters that don’t mean anything to anyone anymore. It does seem that the best registration is undoubtedly a personalised one.