For Sale: 2000 Mercedes-Benz 320 in Katwijk, Netherlands

You know what's funny about the first-generation CLK? Almost everyone, when they see this car, immediately thinks of Formula 1, of the safety car, of the brutal CLK GTR that ran as a homologation monster among the Le Mans prototypes. And yet the CLK most of us actually ran into in real life was a very different beast. No roaring V12 in the middle, no wings the size of picnic tables, but a neat, distinguished coupe and cabriolet you'd spot outside the rugby club in the Home Counties, parked between a pair of Volvos.

Because the W208 was never meant to intimidate. It was meant to charm. By the late '90s Mercedes had cottoned on to the fact that there was a gap between the sober C-Class and the stately E, and that there was an audience who wanted a coupe or cabrio that looked good without the neighbours assuming you were battling a midlife crisis. That's a fine balancing act on a very thin wire, and the CLK pulled it off with flair. Elegant without being showy, comfortable without being dull, and with just enough engineering under the bonnet to actually make something of it.

Under that bonnet, incidentally, sits the finest choice on the menu: the 3.2-litre V6, good for 218 hp. No frantic sprint machine, but that's not the point at all. This engine pushes you forward on a velvet-soft wave, precisely enough to pull out into the fast lane at the motorway interchange without a hint of embarrassment, and otherwise just flow smoothly along with the rhythm of the day. Automatic, naturally, because in a cabrio like this you want one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely on the door edge while the sun tans your forearm.

And now we come to the bit where I need to sit down for a moment. Because this particular CLK isn't just another black or silver one. This one wears Designo Varicolor Pearl, that mysterious violet pearlescent paint that, depending on the light, shifts from deep blue to purple to almost black. Designo was, back then, Mercedes' haute couture department, where for a hefty premium you could order a car that was just a little different from the rest of the car park. Most buyers didn't dare and dutifully chose anthracite. This car's first owner did dare. Chapeau, sir.

Right, back to the car itself. This example comes from Belgium, and you can tell from the paperwork. A neatly filled-in service book with stamps from Garage Van Winkel in Lokeren, years of loyalty to the same Mercedes dealer, with services you could almost mark on the calendar. Type A, type B, tidily alternating, oil in, spark plugs on time. A Car-Pass that nails down the entire life story. This isn't a car that turned up under a tarpaulin somewhere, this is one that was taken seriously its whole life.

The interior is trimmed in leather, the soft top does what a soft top should do, and the 16-inch alloys sit tidily underneath on Bridgestones with plenty of tread left. Four seats, so you can genuinely go top-down with four people aboard, something that's anything but a given in this class. And honestly: a cabrio you can only travel in solo if you're single is more a statement than a car. This one is both.

What I love about this CLK is that it has nothing to prove. It's old enough to stir nostalgia, yet young enough to just use every single day. You can head to the harbour hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, you can pick up the kids in it, and on a balmy July evening you can drop the top on your way to nowhere in particular. It's a car for people who care more about the road to their destination than the destination itself.

And that paint. I know, I keep banging on about it. But I can't help it, every time the sun sweeps across it I see a different colour.

Some people buy a cabrio for the way others look at them. This one you buy for the way it looks in your own rear-view mirror, every time the light changes.

**Special features**
- Rare Designo Varicolor Pearl paint (violet