Thank you all for the fantastic feedback on the launch of the community jobs board. There's plenty more to come on that front.

As for yesterday's question, Should TDV continue publishing platform deep dives? the answer, as you'll see below, was a resounding yes. So, we'll start pulling together the data for the next platform, and another deep dive will be landing in your inbox soon.

And as always, if there's a particular metric or type of data you'd like us to explore, simply reply to this email. I'm always curious to know what you'd like to see beneath the surface.

Want to dive deeper into any of these listings? Just click on the car to take you directly to the listing.

If one of today's cars has caught your eye, don't just look at the hammer price.

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I always find it fascinating that Ferrari has built some of the most incredible cars in history, yet if you ask most people to picture one, they still end up here.

Red. Targa roof. Pop-up headlights. Gated shifter. The Ferrari 308 isn't necessarily the fastest Ferrari, the rarest Ferrari, or the most valuable Ferrari. But I would argue it is one of the most important.

More people probably discovered Ferrari through Magnum P.I. than they did through Formula One. And that's what makes the 308 so interesting. It wasn't just a car, it became part of popular culture.

This particular example is exactly what you'd want. Low miles, original paint, service history, and perhaps my favorite part, a seller who has clearly treated maintenance as part of the ownership experience rather than an inconvenience.

There are Ferraris you buy because they're investments. There are Ferraris you buy because they're objectively brilliant to drive. Then there are Ferraris like the 308, which people buy because they've spent the last forty years wanting one.

And I suspect that's why these cars continue to have such staying power. Because while Ferrari has spent the last four decades building faster, more expensive, and more technologically advanced machines, I'm not entirely convinced they've ever built one more recognizable.

Ask someone to draw a Ferrari from memory, and chances are they'll draw a 308.

I am so far out of my depth on this one it isn't even funny. Until about twenty minutes ago, I'd never heard of a Beardmore Taxi Mk7, and now I've somehow convinced myself that this may be one of the coolest things currently for sale online. Apparently just 675 were built, which, frankly, is 675 more than I would have guessed.

The deeper I went down the rabbit hole, the better it got. This one still has its original taximeter, the illuminated "For Hire" signs, period advertisements, and enough patina to make me hope nobody ever restores it. At one point I discovered that the replacement front axle arrived in its original wooden crate and could apparently also be fitted to an electric milk float. That's not a sentence I expected to write when I woke up this morning.

What I love most about it, however, is that this thing spent decades driving around London. Think about that for a second. Who sat in the back? How many stories does it have? Somewhere along the line it has almost certainly carried people infinitely more interesting than any of us, and now, sixty years later, it's sitting online looking for its next owner.

The truth is I have absolutely no idea what a Beardmore Taxi Mk7 should be worth, and I suspect there are only a handful of people on the planet who do. But that's one of the reasons I love this hobby. One minute you're looking at a Ferrari 308, and the next you're seriously contemplating whether you have room in your garage for a London taxi complete with its original fare table and taximeter.

At no reserve, I suspect somebody is about to end up with the most interesting thing at their local Cars & Coffee. And if they happen to park next to a dozen 911s, I know exactly where the crowd will be standing.

There are sensible wagons. And then there is the Volvo V70R. Because at some point in the early 2000s, somebody at Volvo decided that what the world really needed was a family wagon with 300 horsepower, all-wheel drive, Brembo brakes, electronically adjustable suspension, and, if you were lucky enough, a manual gearbox complete with what enthusiasts affectionately refer to as the "Spaceball." Frankly, I struggle to think of many cars that have aged better. This one is particularly dangerous. Silver over Nordkap, 86,000 miles, the right transmission, a healthy stack of maintenance records, and perhaps most importantly, no reserve.

The funny thing about V70Rs is that nobody buys one because they need a wagon. They buy one because they're trying to convince themselves they're a sensible adult while simultaneously owning a 300-horsepower turbocharged Swedish missile.

And let's be honest, we've all been there. Sure, there are a few things to note. It's had minor damage in its past, there's some wear commensurate with age, and you'll want to satisfy yourself on the mileage discrepancy, which appears to be the result of kilometers being confused with miles over the years. But if you're shopping for a twenty-year-old Volvo wagon, you're probably not expecting perfection anyway.

What you are expecting is character. And few cars have as much of it as a manual V70R. Because while the Germans spent decades convincing us that performance had to come in a sedan, Volvo quietly built a wagon that could haul the kids, the dog, and a week's worth of groceries while embarrassing a surprising number of cars at the traffic lights.

I have a feeling this one isn't going to stay at this price for very long. Then again, I suspect most of you already knew that the moment you saw the word "Spaceball."

I don't know what it is about old trucks, but they seem to get away with things other vehicles don't. If this was a 1972 sedan, we'd be talking about fuel economy, safety, and whether it's actually any good to drive in modern traffic. Instead, it's a 1972 Chevrolet K10, so everyone just looks at it and thinks, "Yep, that's cool."

And they're right. What caught my attention with this one wasn't the Hugger Orange paint, the rebuilt 350, or even the fact it's no reserve. It was the line buried in the description that said the frame-off restoration was completed in 2000, twenty-six years ago.

That's remarkable when you think about it. Most restored vehicles spend their lives being trailered around, hidden away in collections, or sold a few years later. This one has spent the better part of three decades doing what old trucks are supposed to do and still looks like it belongs on a poster.

In fact, I'd argue a twenty-six-year-old restoration tells you more than a six-month-old one ever could. Anybody can spend a lot of money restoring a vehicle. The difficult part is making sure it still looks good when your hair has turned a little greyer and your kids have grown up.

That's what this truck represents to me. Not a restoration, but proof of one. While there may be plenty of restored K10s out there, there aren't many with twenty-six years of history quietly backing up the work.

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