Richard Branson has a problem. His image is that of a hippie entrepreneur, yet he runs a global airline that dumps thousands of tons of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. Now he has come up with the idea of a green fuel made from ethanol — basically sugar alcohol — to help fuel his aircraft and cars. Back on track then. But does his own choice of car match the green credentials he is trying to give his businesses? Branson says he sold his car six months ago. What was the car? It was, er . . . he can’t remember.

Perhaps Land Rover can help. It says Branson drove a limited edition of its Range Rover launched last year to celebrate 35 years of the marque — it manages just 16mpg. The company has a longstanding relationship with the Virgin boss dating back to 1994 when, after a crash on the M40, Branson credited the car with saving his family’s life.

There are other cars Branson would probably rather forget. The white Transit van, for example, that in the early days he used to take records round Dover docks in a scam designed to avoid sales tax. He was eventually caught by customs, spent the night in prison and paid £53,000 as part of an out-of-court settlement to avoid a criminal record.

Then there was his first car: a Mini Minor with blacked-out windows that he owned during the Sixties. “It had blacked-out windows not because I wanted to look important but because I could never pass my test. The windows meant that when the police stopped me I could climb over onto the passenger’s seat and the passenger would swap places with me into the driver’s seat without being seen.”

The elaborate trick continued for some time. “Trying to get my licence was quite interesting because all my cars were so run down. On the first test I had to push-start my car, which didn’t go down very well — almost everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I took about six or seven attempts to pass.”

Apart from unreliable cars, he blames the fact that in his early days he was too busy trying to get his record business off the ground to devote any time to learning the rules of the road. “I was always distracted and had other things on my mind — I didn’t have the time to concentrate on driving and cars.

“My most amusing situation was driving down to Oxford one day in a different Mini — maybe slightly over the speed limit. A police car pulled us over and I gave a friend of mine who was sitting in the passenger seat the biggest stomach punch he had ever received. Then I jumped out of the car and said to the police that my friend — who was now buckled up in agony — had acute appendicitis. So with the police as an escort and the siren blaring we headed off to the local hospital.”

Branson’s favourite car is one he has never owned — the James Bondish Gibbs Aquada: “It did 100mph on land and 60mph on water and it worked brilliantly. I drove across the Channel in it couple of years ago and it was great fun, but I don’t know whether the company ever got it off the ground — I wanted one but never actually took delivery of it.”

He is not impressed by showy cars, he says. “If anyone ever turned up in a Rolls-Royce to take me somewhere I would certainly get out before I reached my destination. I think it causes resentment if someone flaunts wealth in a very ostentatious way with cars.”

This has not always been the case. In 1972, as his record label was taking off, he bought a Bentley that had once belonged to the folk singer Mary Hopkin. His ownership was brief. According to Mick Brown, his biographer, he gave the car to Mike Oldfield in exchange for Oldfield performing Tubular Bells at a concert in London. Oldfield was opposed to the idea because he thought the album worked better as a studio piece. “All right, Mike,” said Branson. “If you do the show you can have the Bentley.” The show went ahead.

After that came a succession of saloons, which according to Brown were all treated in the same off-hand manner, “often skewiffed carelessly on a yellow line . . . window and doors left open, the keys hanging tantalisingly in the ignition”. They included a Volvo that Branson says suited his need for a safe and reliable car. Volvo now supplies the limo service that ferries Branson’s first-class passengers to airports. It is also involved in his latest wheeze to get people into greener cars.

Before long, Branson says, we will all be driving on bioethanol. In classic Branson fashion, he has anticipated the trend and drawn up the business plan. He is, after all, one of the top 10 richest individuals in Britain with a fortune of £3 billion — an empire built on starting and selling companies.

Virgin fuels will seize the opportunity that the likes of BP and Shell have failed to grasp. “Virgin fuels would be a great mix of ethical and business reasons. I have been to see the president of Volvo to ensure that they are ethanol friendly,” says Branson, “and we have had talks with them about making a Virgin Volvo.”

Branson claims that within five years there will be Virgin fuel pumps on the forecourts possibly filling up Virgin Volvos and saving the planet. It sounds far-fetched but given his past form he may just do it. And then sell the company.

On his CD changer

Branson has an abiding fondness for the records that were Virgin’s biggest hits in the 1970s: Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield, Never Mind the Bollocks by the Sex Pistols (the band’s only official album) and, from the Eighties, Culture Club’s Colour by Numbers. Of contemporary bands he likes Stereophonics