‘Well, lot number 56 created quite a buzz, ladies and gentlemen … ” I’m sitting in a marquee in Chichester at the Goodwood Festival of Speed, sheltering from the summer heat. The auctioneer tells us that there have already been several telephone bids for this particular lot. Someone on the phone kicks things off with £180,000. The room holds its breath. Behind us are various astonishingly luxurious cars. One, an orange 1992 Mazda RX-7 FD Veilside Fortune Coupe, was used in the film The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. All of a sudden the bidding for lot 56 is at £220,000. Now £230,000. Now £240,000 from someone online. Now £250,000. I can hear the distant vrooming of race cars tearing around a track. But lot 56 isn’t a car. It’s a number plate.
Until recently, the UK record for a number plate sold at public auction was £518,480, set in 2014 when Ferrari dealer John Collins beat the competition to get his hands on “25 O”. Private deals have been done for millions of pounds. In Dubai, “P7” sold for £12m in 2023, setting a world record. Number plates can dwarf the value of the cars on which they sit. The question is: why?
John Harrison, 75, is known as the “modern godfather” of autonumerology – the hobby of being enormously into registration plates. He tells me over the phone: “You’ve got people who are mainly interested in what I’d call the pattern of numbers, the more technical side; people interested in personal numbers; people interested in foreign plates. I do a bit of all three.” As a child, like many number-plate fans, he scribbled down the ones he saw on the road and started looking up some of their details. He tracked the work of the late Noel Woodall, the hobby’s true OG, who wrote 24 – yes, 24 – books about registration plates. (One of them is called Where’s It From? When Was It Issued?) Harrison has limited himself to just the one title: The Number Plate Book.
There is a new bid every second. It’s like pinball for rich people
A few days later, I meet Harrison face to face at the annual Registration Numbers Club rally at the Wythall Transport Museum in Worcestershire – the equivalent of Comic-Con for number-plate fans. They convene there to admire one another’s wares and hand out tongue-in-cheek awards, and have done so for almost 50 years.
A class winner trophy
I also meet Neal Bircher, who might be more interested in number plates than anyone else on the face of the Earth. He is my introduction to the world of Facebook groups for plate fans, and I join one called Private Number Plate Enthusiasts, which is like a birdspotting group for number-plate devotees. Bircher’s car boasts “NEA 1”, and over the years he has owned various iterations of his initials, “NAB”. He also owns “149 PCE”, the number plate on the truck at the heart of Steven Spielberg’s first film, Duel. He still yearns for “NB1” or “NA1”, or perhaps “A1”, which enthusiasts tend to consider the great white whale of the plate world. “A1” is perhaps the only plate with its own Wikipedia page. It is owned by Prince Jefri Bolkiah, the younger brother of the Sultan of Brunei, and would sell for multiple millions.
Speaking of multiple millions, at the rally I also meet Richard Conway. I know about Conway because I have heard he is selling the “1 HRH” plate on his Bentley for £2.5m. (He doesn’t throw in the Bentley for that price.) It is a valuation that raises eyebrows everywhere I mention it. “Too much,” Harrison says. “If you’re a multimillionaire, two-and-a-half may be peanuts, but to me it sounds, shall we say, somewhat ambitious.”
Angela Banh is marketing manager for Regtransfers, which, as the biggest number-plate broker in the country, advertises some plates for millions of pounds. “F1”, which belongs to car entrepreneur Afzal Kahn, was listed on the website until recently and he expects £15m for it. Does she think “1 HRH” is worth £2.5m? “It’s not one that we would value at that kind of figure,” Banh says. “But that doesn’t mean someone’s not going to pay two-and-a-half for it.”
Angela Banh works for Regtransfers, which advertises some number plates for millions of pounds
Conway, 50, is an entrepreneur who also owns the Number Plate Company Group Limited. He won’t tell me how much he paid for “1 HRH”, of course, but in 2009 it changed hands at a Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency (DVLA) auction for £92,000 plus VAT and fees. He bought it 13 years later, but hadn’t intended on selling it. Like various other enthusiasts, he likens the hobby to collecting expensive paintings. “I might think: ‘What an idiot. They’ve spent £3m on that piece of art.’ But that’s because I don’t understand the market.” He tells me he has already turned down seven-figure offers. What if King Charles tapped him on the shoulder? “I think that’s unlikely,” he smiles. The reverse plate – “HRH 1”, which those in the business consider the “right” way around because the letters come first – was given to Queen Elizabeth II as an engagement present by the original owner. Conway doesn’t seem likely to give his up for free.
Back in Chichester, the price of lot 56 is still rising: £300,000, £310,000, £320,000. The number plate in question is “JB 1”, once the property of Rolls-Royce and Bentley dealer John Barclay. Why is the plate so valuable? Because “JB” has a good claim to being the most common set of initials in the country. (To help them come to an accurate valuation, Regtransfers has a database of names and surnames.) “330,” says the auctioneer. “340 … ” One of the bidders in the room is John Doherty, buy-in manager for Regtransfers, sitting with Banh. He has just bid £350,000. There is a new bid every second. It’s like pinball for rich people.
In 2019, when the DVLA surveyed drivers with an interest in private number plates, they found that 6% wanted them for their business; 17% considered them an investment; and 69% bought them because of a personal connection. The perception of people who go in for personalised number plates isn’t famously positive. Of course, hardcore hobbyists demur, making the point that being really into number plates doesn’t necessarily make you an overcompensating flash prat. “It’s not about ‘Me, me, me – look at me,’” Bircher says. “It’s ‘I find this interesting.’ I say to people, ‘What on earth is showy about the squiggles on the plate on the front of your car?’”
One noticeable thing about the enthusiasts is that they tend to be older, white and male. But bucking one of those trends is 23-year-old Kit Joubert, who is making a splash on Instagram with an account devoted to exploring the history of number plates. He presents slick videos in which he discusses notorious plates, always with access to the cars they are on. Joubert thinks that over the last couple of decades the public perception has changed significantly, to the point that a personalised number plate is now simply another part of car customisation. “There’s a shift beginning to happen,” he says, “and I, for better or worse, might be the face of that, at least on social media.” Because there is often an overlap between fast cars and lucrative number plates, the hobby is well suited to visual platforms such as Instagram. Joubert recently organised a meet-up for plate enthusiasts, which he claims was the first to happen without the involvement of the Registration Numbers Club. He wants to make number plates his full-time job in the next year. “It’s changed my life,” he says.
Kit Joubert’s Instagram account delves into the history of number plates. He wants to make it his full-time job
Number plates were introduced to British roads under the 1903 Motor Car Act and, as Harrison explains in his book, at first they were one or two letters (denoting an area of the country), followed by up to four numbers. Harrison believes the first to have been a Hastings plate, “DY 1”. (The letters correlated to the size of the local authority. London, the largest, had “A”. Once the end of the alphabet was reached, “AA” took effect.) After the numbers were used up, letters were added before the two initials. Then, in the 1950s, the reversed format was phased in: “1234 AB”. In the 60s, letters were added to the end, with the “A” suffix in “AMP 595A” denoting 1963, for example. From the 1980s things got increasingly convoluted – one of the many reasons that people yearn for the beautiful simplicity of those early plates.
Another explanation for the popularity of plates today is that the DVLA has cottoned on to how much of a cash cow the hobby is. In 1977 the government was plotting to make the transfer of plates more expensive and difficult. “No one could make a convincing claim that he would suffer genuine hardship if he could no longer afford to transfer his cherished mark or his personalised number plate,” said the MP John Horam. The Registration Numbers Club formed in opposition to this philosophy, and ultimately won the fight. Now, the DVLA would never seek to make the process more difficult: the DVLA’s head of external communications points me to an annual report that says in 2024-25 they made more than £274m from personalised number plates. (The organisation charges an £80 fee for every plate sold.)
I want to know if ‘OAS 1S’ might go for a silly amount. The DVLA are no fools when it comes to the timing of their release
The DVLA held its first auction in 1989. Initially, it simply sold plates that had already been issued. Over time, however, it has become possible to request that a specific plate be created and auctioned. If it is valid and unreleased, it could be yours. Once upon a time, all of the DVLA’s auctions were in-person, but when attendance fell during the pandemic, it moved them all to its website. In June, I register to check one out.
I am interested in this specific auction because I want to know if “OAS 1S” might go for a silly amount of money. (The DVLA is no fool when it comes to the timing of its releases.) Also up for grabs is “95 A”, which Bircher tells me is the first three-character plate to be auctioned in five years. As I watch, I can see the prices rise in real time. At the end of the five-day auction, “OAS 1S” is at £56,040; “95 A” has secured £71,010; but the winner is “8 FU”, which has sold for £90,000. Harrison’s insight is that “Fu” is a common surname in China, where the number eight is also considered lucky.
David McFarlane from Leicester with his personalised number plate
“FU” brings us to another subject: naughty plates. Banh tells me that until 2024, “FU” was suppressed (because of its “fuck you” connotations). As Harrison says in his book, censorship has been a concern since the very beginning. “DD” was originally considered too problematic to have on a car because the initials stood for “drop dead”. When local authorities were allocated two-letter prefixes, Dorset were disgruntled with “BF” because it was considered to stand for “bloody fool”; “666” used to be deemed too offensive for sensitive eyes. “They go around in circles,” Banh says. “What was considered rude many years ago is no longer rude now.” Currently you can have a “PEN 15” but you can’t have an “AR25 HOL”.
At the rally I meet Matthew Edwards, 56, who is selling his “S69 CUM” plate for £15,000. (His wife no longer finds it funny.) For a while he also had “K21 KKK” – until the DVLA decided “KKK” was too offensive to be allowed on the road. He had bought it purely to sell it, but that became all but impossible. “I couldn’t give it away,” he says.
Nicholas Young concedes that it is ‘childish and stupid’ to buy plates that match your initials
Meanwhile, in Chichester, “JB 1” has broken the £400,000 barrier. Everyone but Doherty and a mysterious bidder on the phone has dropped out. The bidding goes up to £410,000, then £420,000, then £430,000. When it creeps up to £500,000, an audible murmur goes around the room. The record is within touching distance.
“Is it any different from adorning your car with anything else – to having a special paint job, or having some bolt-on goodie? I don’t know,” says Nicholas Young, 76, as I sit in his Rolls-Royce (number plate “NY 1”). Young, whose fascination lies in the history of number plates, concedes that it is “childish and stupid” to buy plates because they match your initials. He also admits that’s exactly what he’s done.
Young has also written his own book – the colossal Car Number Classics (“I was impressed not only by its weight, but certainly more by its contents!” one of the reviewers said) – and he has no interest in treating the plates as a way to get rich. “If I say I christened my son after a number plate, that really does sound sad,” he says, “but his name is the same as mine. So they’ll go to him.”
In Chichester, the anonymous bidder on the phone is head-to-head with Doherty. They’re at £500,000. “510,” the auctioneer says. He looks at Doherty, who nods. “520,” he says. With that, it has broken the UK record. Joubert, who is standing feet away from me, is well aware of this. “530,” the auctioneer says, taking a bid from the phone. There is a silence. “530,” he repeats, looking at Doherty. He shakes his head. As the auctioneer raises his hammer, fireworks crash somewhere above our heads. “530,000,” he says, banging his hammer. The room breaks out into applause. It is an astonishing turn of events. With the addition of fees and VAT, “JB 1” has sold for £608,600. Is it simply three squiggles on a sheet of metal? Or is it a priceless piece of history? As Edwards says: “You either get it or you don’t.”
Who is the mysterious new owner of “JB 1”? Weeks later, I hear back from the auctioneer who had the bidder on the other end of the phone. I wanted to know if they might be willing to speak to me. “I spoke to the buyer,” he says. Yes? “And I can confirm they would like to remain anonymous.” Damn. “However, they are fine to say that they have the initials JB.” Justin Bieber? Joe Biden? Jeff Bezos? Jack Black? James Blunt? Juliette Binoche, perhaps? I have chosen to believe it was Jim Broadbent. But we may never know.