GIVEN FE­BRU­ARY’S COLD snap, it shouldn’t come as a sur­prise to learn that the Mor­gan lived mainly at the of­fice. Whether it was due to the lim­ited trac­tion or the barely there pro­tec­tion from the el­e­ments, my col­leagues have steered clear.

One chilly Fri­day, I de­cided to take the Mog over the other cars on our test fleet. Leav­ing the of­fice at 6:30pm, I quickly be­came grate­ful for the heated seats. Un­for­tu­nately, while they keep your thighs, bum and back warm, the rest of you gets cold.

I was soon pray­ing for some heat soak from the en­gine to start thaw­ing my toes, and for an ex­tra layer of cloth­ing to pro­tect my torso. By the end of my 75min com­mute, I was ready for a roar­ing fire, a stiff drink and a foil blan­ket.

That wasn’t enough to put me off the Mog. Bereft of in­fo­tain­ment, it’s a car that forces you to fo­cus on the art of driv­ing. I knew I’d made the cor­rect choice of week­end wheels, right up to the mo­ment I had to go back to work at 6.30am the fol­low­ing Mon­day. Can any­one rec­om­mend de­cent ther­mal un­der­wear?

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