A popular pastime among car enthusiasts, both in conversation and mentally during idle moments, is to ponder the dream garage. More specifically, which cars will occupy it, should money not be a concern. Less commonly pondered is the garage itself and how big or small it should be.

Like many, I enjoy the Jay Leno’s Garage videos on YouTube. Freed of having to feign interest in Keanu Reeves’ latest action flick or some washed-up politician’s ‘tell-all’ book but not of the money that that sort of thing used to pay, Leno can spend plenty of time with his collection. To many, it probably looks like the dream: an enormous hangar in California with a couple hundred cars from all eras.

But I’m not sure it is. Don’t get me wrong: I wouldn’t turn down a similar arrangement if it came my way. But even with full-time staff to look after the fleet, having more cars than days in the year seems impractical to me. Just trying to drive every car at least once a year would be a near-impossible mission.

Maybe 10 is the magic number? I’ve not tried it, but that still seems like a lot. The hangar required to house all that metal still needs to be pretty sizeable, and you have to keep up with 10 insurance policies, 10 MOTs, 10 road tax reminders and 10 services, never mind the more specialist attention that old bangers tend to demand. The thought alone makes me want to lease a Suzuki Swift.

I suspect the sweet spot is three. I’m currently on two: a Mini Cooper S from 2005 and a BMW 325i from 1990. One is a year-round do-it-all car, the other a slightly more interesting do-it-all car, but which is limited to three seasons, because it’s liable to turning to brown dust. They cover a lot of bases and the admin is somewhat manageable.

I’ve had the BMW a year, and I've already done nearly as many miles as the previous owner managed in six. Thanks to him and the owner before, who didn’t drive it at all for 10 years, I had the opportunity to buy a nice, low-mileage car. But I do wonder how cars end up sitting like that. Perhaps the ‘mistake’ is keeping special cars for special occasions.

You may simply be of the restoring or collecting persuasion, which is absolutely fine, but assuming you buy cars to drive, I think the best way of getting enjoyment out of cars on the side is to just use them to brighten up mundane journeys. I’ve been driving the BMW to the supermarket and to the odd UK-based job and then taking the long way back. It has been most enjoyable.

Even so, I think there’s space (functionally, if not physically in the single-car garage I’m renting) for a third car – something a bit silly that’s wildly different from normal traffic and an event every time.

No, not a supercar: that’s way out of my league financially. I’m thinking pre-war. For the past few months, we’ve had a Morgan Super 3 on the long-term fleet. I was lucky to prize the keys from Matt Prior’s hands for a weekend, and I loved how it made low-speed driving interesting, whereas most modern cars aim to do exactly the opposite.

I suspect that with a pre-war car, the need for double-declutching, the uncouthness, the confused looks from passers-by, might inject similar cheer into ordinary driving. The oldest thing I’ve driven so far is a Series II Land Rover, so I may be delusional...

There are signs that this is a great time to buy a veteran car, because prices are dropping as large parts of the established fanbase move on to a more ground-based existence. I came across a 1928 Franklin with an air-cooled straight-six engine, a three-speed transmission and wooden wheels. I’m sold on the concept of an air-cooled straight six alone, but it’s still £13,000, which is a bit much for a bakery-run car, so maybe I need to give it a few more years.

Am I mad for wanting a machine that’s approaching 100 years old? After all, there is a notable absence of Franklin main dealers near where I live. Maybe the three-car garage is better left as a mental exercise. But I’d love to be told otherwise.