The tax disc dies today. How will you fill the void it leaves?

WHAT do a sticker with Southport’s coat of arms, a curious period reproduction of some 1970s paperwork and a Volkswagen Owners Club badge – even though I’ve never owned a VW – have in common?

Nope, they’re not prizes from the worst ever round of The Generation Game. They are, in fact, just three of the automotive ornaments competing for windscreen space in my small fleet of cheap used cars. As of today, you no longer need to display a tax disc in your car – and literally and metaphorically, the demise of this bit of DVLA bureaucracy is going to leave a big gap.

In case you hadn’t already heard, the DVLA has decided to do away with the little perforated discs. It means that for the first time since 1921, motorists won’t end up accidentally ripping them as they carefully try to free them from the bit of Swansea paperwork they’re posted out with, and the end of nosey neighbours trying to get one up on you when they point out your disc is a day out of date.

Naturally, there are downsides too, particularly if – like me – you love idly flicking through The Champion’s classifieds, hoping to find a rubber-bumper MG Midget for next to nothing. Thanks to some complicated and frankly rather boring changes to the law, you can no longer buy a car with six months’ tax thrown in as part of the deal – you have to pay for yours from scratch, and the seller has to ask for a refund for theirs. I’m keeping my fingers crossed the changes don’t spark another Passport Office-esque nightmare IT meltdown, but hopefully the new system should be second nature in six months’ time.

Nope, the real change for me is having a circular sea of emptiness in the bottom-left corner of my windscreen which no longer has to be filled with a redundant bit of paperwork. In my instance, I’ve already opted to fill the space left in my MX-5’s windscreen with a sticker celebrating Southport – a nice reminder of home when I spend most of my working week in deepest Cambridgeshire – while the MGB’s being treated to one of those period recreation tax discs that’s all the rage with classic car fans right now.

The possibilities are endless for that little circular wallet which will otherwise sit unloved and empty – you could replace your tax disc with a Liverpool FC badge, a photograph of Keira Knightley, whatever you choose.

In fact, my favourite suggestion was a colleague’s – just the words TAX IN PAST, scrawled on a circular bit of paper. 

I can just picture it now, plastered on the windscreen of a yellow Reliant Regal. Cushty, Rodders!

My Bad Romance with historic vehicle tax

TODAY I'd like to begin a column covering all matters motoring with Lady Gaga. An unlikely icon of our times.

Weird and wonderful in almost every measure, Miss Poker Face wears dresses made from meat, makes bizarre statements in the pages of Heat magazine, and sings songs about the joys of getting utterly smashed after drinking a tad too much red wine. But she's not yet been invited into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, whereas Madonna has.

All of which brings me neatly onto my MGB, which the DLVA are currently reclassifying as an historic vehicle, meaning the amount of road tax I have to pay is nothing. The Government quite rightly agree that cars like mine are icons of the automotive world, and because they make our roads a prettier place they're happy to allow them a tax break.

But you'll still have to stump up to run the equally worthy Mazda MX-5, Ford Escort Cosworth and Ferrari F40 because they were made after the Government's cut off point for classic cars, which is January 1, 1973, meaning that like Lady Gaga they're arguably iconic but not in a way that's accepted in any vaguely official way.

There's also a mountain of miserable motors made before 1973 that arguably aren't exciting enough to warrant free road tax - you might not remember the Hillman Avenger, but if you do you'll know it's so ugly and desperately unattractive it can't possibly be considered a classic. Designating it an Historic Vehicle is about as stupid as slapping on an Historic Market Town sign in front of Milton Keynes.

Clearly, what we need is a new organisation which can decide up ‘n' coming classics on a case-by-case basis, and clear up once and for all that the Lotus Elise, for instance, is a classic car and the Hillman Avenger isn't. Ideally, it'd be led by

Top Gear's James May - a man we can trust with the noble task of overseeing the nation's classic cars - and guided by advice from Stirling Moss, petrolhead turned TV funnyman Steve Coogan and at least one person who works for Autocar. Trust me, it's a much better system than the one we've got now!

Don't hold your breath though...