You’ve heard of muckspreading, right? It’s what farmers do once a year to achieve optimum yields.

And I’ll wager you’ll have heard of manspreading, too. It’s when a guy takes up too much space in a public place. Enough said on that matter.

I just discovered a new word. It’s a phenomenon I recognised instantly, and now it has a name: carspreading.

All too often when we’re on the road, I hear the Other Half (OH) emit a heavy sigh, or maybe a disapproving tut. Our windscreen is framing the generous rear end of a large vehicle, usually containing two people but capable of seating many more.

“Do they really need a car as big as that?” huffs OH. He runs through his mental checklist to define the owners: recently retired from a well-paid job, and splashed out on a status symbol on wheels, with sufficient space for the occasional visit from the grandchildren.

He saves his most fervent outrage for the times we face such vehicles in narrow country lanes with high Cornish hedges, on the way to a remote sandy cove. It’s rare the other party will reverse: too big, too wary of scratches, too unfamiliar with the skilful reverse a local can execute single-handedly.

It turns out OH is not alone in his ire. Sport utility vehicles (SUVs) make up 62% of new car sales and three-quarters are sold to town and city dwellers, but a YouGov survey conducted on behalf of Clean Cities shows that 59 per cent of UK car owners think SUVs shouldn’t be in urban areas because the largest are wider than the standard parking space.

Oliver Lord, UK Head of Clean Cities, said: “Our cities face a double whammy of more cars and bigger cars. Carspreading doesn’t just affect parking; these super-sized cars increase danger, congestion and pollution on our streets.”

The worst offenders are the Ford Ranger Raptor, Mercedes Benz GLE and BMW X5 / X6 - all more than 2m wide – with the Land Rover Defender 130, Audi Q8 and Kia EV9 all wider than typical on-street parking spaces. Is this you? Feel the shame.

The SUV Alliance, a coalition of 14 environmental and transport groups, has published a manifesto calling for a maximum size for new car sales from 2030, higher taxes and parking charges for the heaviest and most polluting vehicles and a tobacco-style ban on SUV advertising.

Despised in the countryside, resented in built-up areas – I actually find myself feeling sorry for the poor beggars. I hate to break this to you, Mr/Ms SUV Owner, but nobody likes you.

It’s no surprise that our cars are getting bigger. Our car port was built in the 1960s, and the only thing I’ve ever dared park in it was our dinky Suzuki Cappuccino (think: skateboard with roof).

Ironically, we recently took delivery of our largest car to date. It’s a seven-seater Dacia Jogger, prompting a friend to ask if we were planning to adopt quadruplets in the near future.

Fair point: we are a three-person family. However, like so many, we have multi-generational add-ons: my in-laws are 84 and 90, and their next-door-neighbour often joins us on trips out.

Previously, this has involved leaving someone out, or convoluted arrangements whereby one of us drops the gang off at Trevaskis Farm then doubles back to pick up whichever poor soul drew the short straw and is now standing on Camborne station platform in the rain, desperate for the loo which is locked up on Sundays.

Last weekend, all six of us piled into the seven-seater and headed off to Trebarwith Strand for a birthday lunch. It was the first time anyone had sat in the very back seats – Daughter enjoyed having her own private lair, headphones on and in a world of her own. Those of us in the middle had proper bum room. It felt like a proper trip out, backed by jolly mood music.

We were pushed into buying the Jogger when our previous car – a top-spec SUV, yes, passed down by my father-in-law - gave up the ghost suddenly. We’d been spoiled: heated seats, mobile phone charger, front and rear parking sensors, a well-made feeling all round; but there was a nasty scratch from a Cornish hedge, and when top spec goes wrong, it costs an arm and a leg to fix (£600 for a boot motor? Cripes). We had no choice but to trade it in for something chosen from a limited selection at the dealership.

As a stop-gap, we bought a Toyota Yaris. It’s small, yes, but it’s got poke and a tight turning circle. It’s ideal for short trips, Cornish back roads and those breathe-in parking spaces at the supermarket that SUV drivers have to pass over.

We now fight over it. It turns out big isn’t always better.