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Trying to remember that song title ... what have YOU forgotten about during Covid?

18/8/2020

4 Comments

 
by Paul Sweeney
​It’s all Stan Barnes’s fault, this blog. I wouldn’t have started it if not for him. Why? Well, Stan posted this in the “Enthusiasts of British Motor Vehicles" group:
“I'm probably as guilty as many owners in neglecting their boots. 🙄 The felt under the S-Type's parcel tray has been sagging for a while.....finally got around to sorting it today. Having a P6 as well, I can certainly appreciate what a decent boot size looks like. 🤣 So c'mon......don't be shy.....let's see your boots!” 
I thought that was a pretty good post – something a little bit different – then carried on about my day. It was only later after a mug of coffee that I thought, “Have I got a photo inside Queenie’s boot? Don’t think so”. Then a little later still (after another mug of coffee) I thought, “She’s parked downstairs – it would be no trouble to nip down and take a photo in the boot”. So I did, and here it is.
Daimler Conquest
Queenie's boot
If you’re not familiar with my relationship with Queenie, what began so well some five years ago when I bought Queenie in 2015 – it was love at first drive – had gradually faded away. The affection I once felt had slowly been eroded by a series of incidents – a combination of bad luck and “stuff that happens to old cars” until I saw the old car as no more than a business tool. If I'm really honest it had become a love/hate thing and I felt I had been foolish to buy an old car in the first place, given that I don't even like wielding a spanner.
​
Early in 2020 I began seriously thinking about putting her up for sale. However that wouldn’t go well while there were problems with the pre-select gear change, and so I waited until that had been fixed (huge kudos to my mate Clynt). After a great deal of asking around, researching, many hours spent with Queenie in bits and more than one false dawn she was finally working well again and was ready to resume work as a vintage car tour vehicle in Napier. I could hardly just sell her right away after all that time, blood, sweat and tears could I? So I decided to run her on the tours for a while longer and see how things went.
But then Covid-19 struck in early/mid March this year and all the international visitors upon whom my business depends had gone home, so Queenie has been sitting quietly in my garage with nothing to do ever since.
​
Back to Stan’s post – I took the boot photo and posted it in his thread. It happened to be a sunny day and I didn’t have much else to do, so I thought “I should start Queenie up – it’s been a while” and sat in the drivers' seat, struck as always by the almost overpowering smells of leather, wood and engines. The starter turned very slowly as the battery was low on charge, but after a few pulls she fired into life.  ​Having got her started, I thought, “Shouldn’t just shut the engine down – she needs a run to recharge the battery a bit” – and so I took her out, intending to return within 10 minutes or so.
After a few minutes reacquainting myself with the car's little peculiarities (I’d not driven her for at least 6 months, maybe more) I began to relax and even enjoy myself. In fact I REALLY enjoyed myself cruising around in the old girl. Older gents stopped to peer at her as we passed, no doubt wondering what model she is – Daimlers are definitely not the most common British classic on the roads here.

Some smiled and waved …. and bit by bit, I felt the old pleasure returning as she cruised serenely around bends, cushioning bumps in the road surprisingly well and generally keeping up with modern traffic. I stopped at the local supermarket and took a couple of photos (below) - how incongruous she looks between the moderns. Queenie is genuinely a car from another era years before supermarkets were a thing, let alone Covid-19.
On leaving the supermarket I found myself taking the scenic route home to enjoy the drive, even pausing to take a photo (below) of Queenie's dash as I thought it looked good in the sunshine. I finally parked Queenie back in the garage at home and was surprised to find we had been out for almost 2 hours. "Mustn't leave it so long next time" I thought.
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​And so I come back to the song I mentioned in the title … it's come to me now. You can play it by clicking below.
4 Comments

The things people say about our classic cars

2/6/2020

1 Comment

 
by Paul Sweeney
I recently asked our group members, "What is the most ridiculous comment you have ever heard from a member of the public about your classic?". The response was fantastic - here is a selection of the more amusing responses. My thanks to all the contributors.
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A Muggle said, "Oh look, it's a horsebox!" - sent in by Dale Scutter
I had a mechanic who when looking at my Volvo 480 tried to tell me it was the same as the Civic Aerodeck
Steve Hancock

Nice car , shame it’s an MG tho
Nala Reklaw

It will be nice this time next year when it’s finished 
David Bevan
“I like your Vitesse.” “Thank you but it’s a Herald 13/60.” “No it’s definitely a Vitesse. You can tell by the bonnet.”
Mike Peake

Guy looked at the front of my car which has a large union flag with Standard Coventry on the radiator and says to me ‘nice Austin 7’.
Colin Clatworthy

Nice car mate, is it a Ferrari?
Paul Steel
Can we tie our marquee to your Scimitar?
Zachary Marshall

A guy looked at the engine of my V4 Corsair from the side and commented on it being 2 cylinder.
Richard Norton

Mate of mine who was in his 30s was asked if he owned his 1959 MK2 Consul from new
Kevin Zms

If you have a Herald, they had a Vitesse, if you have a Capri, they had the 3 litre special, something else, they had the Ghia and on and on it goes until they get in their little shopping car and go home.
Andy Campbell

A herald - they don’t go round corners though.
Andy Brooker

Why d'you bother driving that old banger?
Ross Adams

Blokes at work... when you going to get a new car ?
My answer- when I’ve worn this one out ! (Triumph 2.5PI .. 31 years and counting)
David Harvey

Is that going to be a classic car when it's finshed?
Leon Guyot

I have two Allegro Vanden Plas, so there is a list, but the most common are;
An All-Aggro

The wheels fall off
If you jack it up the windows fall out
Where's the square steering wheel?

What amazes me is they think its the first time I've heard it and they are being hugely funny.
Andy Perman

 Some people ask, "Why do you drive a Beetle when you got a modern car?" I reply, “Why do people ride horses when they have cars?”.
Their faces drop when two girl dancers get out and I am 70 in January!
John Newbury
Best reaction I had when driving my Magnette through town, an elderly well-dressed gent walking with his wife, stopped and stared, then applauded and said 'bravo' as I drove slowly past.
Steve Favell

You only keep it cos its tax exempt
David Sambrook

It’s got the wrong hub caps
Bill Catherall

I've been asked if my Austin Maxi is American, is it Russian, is it a Lada? The mind boggles.
Kev Sharp
Employee of Ferry company ”Do know your car is dripping oil”... me “when you’re nearly 60 you’ll leak a bit mate”
Graeme Whiting
Driving my Alfa GTV6 into a seaside car park in Cornwall and the attendant saying “you’re the first Ferrari we’ve had in here” 
Howard Godolphin
At a car show I was asked if my 1968 E type had been remapped.
Peter Talbot

How could you do that to a Rover p5?
What a waste of a rover p5.
My eyes, my eyes, this can never be unseen, someone needs to be hung drawn and quartered for doing this to a beautiful rover.
Sacrilege.
That's shocking.
That's awful.
I love it.
I hate it.
Kill me now.
Yada yada yada.
Tony Tosh Brooks

About 20 years ago a committee member of the local vintage car Club said my Hillman Californian would never be a classic. Mmmmmmm.yup!
Ernie Greenwell
Is it a Cortina?
I was in my Triumph Stag with the top down...
David Reason

Driving home from a New Years Eve party with the roof down on my Herald somebody shouted out "Aren't you freezing driving that?" My retort "No just cool"
Paul Girling

I'd drop a 2.0 litre engine in that , do the arches and put some wider wheels on.
John Lonergan

That’s a girl’s car
Korey Craft
They called it a piece of junk.
So I informed them that if I wanted their opinion, I'd beat it out of them.
David Harmon

Someone at a show coming up to me and saying “Nice Zephyr mate”.
I politely explained it was a 1959 Cadillac.
Pete Curran

It doesn't look very rusty
James Butler

Driving home one evening in my black ‘54 Morris Minor, pulled up at some traffic lights and the car I’d noticed had been behind me for the last mile or so pulled up on my right, wound down his passenger window and asked me (in all seriousness); “What make is that car mate, is it an Aston Martin?”
Lee Hallam

How do you drive it without air bags and ABS?
Bruce Jones

My mate was at a petrol station and some youth said look wooden alloys!
Steven Chisnall

Man looks at my 1966 Land Rover and told me it was fantastic to see an ex-WW2 army vehicle being used properly.
(N.B. 1st Land Rover designed 1948...)
Joe Farrow

Had one chap come up to me saying 'I had one of those , it was a Ghia though ' ... 'This is a Vauxhall mate '
'I know , just saying mine was a Ghia ' ...
Zebidee Habib

Can I have a smell...?
Matt Harris
It didnt come out of Dagenham with a CD player in
Ian Woodward

A woman riding in the back of Queenie my 1954 Daimler told her horrified (now adult) daughter sitting beside her, "You were conceived in a car just like this"
Paul Sweeney

Very first outing in my Ford Corsair, it had no badges on as it wasn't quite finished. Someone asked what it was, so I told them, and they replied "Ah a Corsa, didn't know Vauxhall made them that far back!!" and yes they were serious.
Ken Bridges

I had an AA man warn me that my power steering and brakes won’t work with the engine off when pushing my Herald onto my drive.
Mike Peake

"Lovely car, is this the one with the 2.7 V6?" - standing next to my Rover P6B ("3500" badges on both front wings and bootlid, "V8" badge on grille and bootlid)
David Beadle

So its a TR7 - asked someone about my TVR 400SE
Ian Shippen

I went to look at an A40 Farina which was rotten
The seller said " You won't find a better one!"
My reply " You better look at mine parked around the corner '
James McLernon

My elderly father saw my Morris minor for the first time and said " it's so modern looking"
Rob Earwicker

My Cortina Savage estate was on stand at the NEC...Chap comes over and tells me that Raceprooved only ever built one estate Savage....I replied that the other one I had at home must be a replica....
Jack Major

Some youths as I was driving up a residential street in Plymouth- "Your car's old as f*** mate!". Didn't really have much of a comeback to that...
Matt Fowles

 Rear windows on those pop out when you jack it up
They were banned from the Blackwall Tunnel
Rear wheels fall off on those
​Has it got a square steering wheel?
George Beresford

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I own a taxi, always roll my eyes when I'm asked if it's fake.
Roy Coker

You should keep that in a garage, you’ll wear it out if you use it.
Mitch Crancher

"Did you buy it new?“ to the twenty year old me driving a thirty year old Herald.
Andrew Spittlehouse

My sister once asked me if everything was ok? Was I struggling?
When I asked her why the concern? She said it was because I always seem to be driving the oldest car in the car park.
Nick Arthur

CEO of a well-known construction company crashed into my Morris Traveller while he was queue-jumping in his Audi (of course) last year; during the rather heated exchanges afterwards he claimed it was my fault for 'driving a stupid small car' and he was 'glad he crashed into it'!
Toby Bruce

I went to the local shops in my classic Jag and parked next to the little coffee shop. There was a cosy group of 50-something ladies supping their lattés. One leaned over the railing and said 'I suppose you think this is your chick magnet'. I was surprised as I am of similar classic car age and said that if it is, then it's not working, but maybe it's finally starting with you today. I didn't continue the dialogue. I have standards
Peter Lloyd

When I broke down in my Vitesse, a woman passer by said she didn’t know a bra company made cars
Edward McNab

A guy told me the correct vinyl roof and steering wheel on my MK4 Cortina were wrong and totally missed the MK5 seats and Capri wheels!
Richard Norton

An "enthusiast" at a show here in Australia that insisted my MG RV8 was an MGC, completely ignoring the difference between a straight 6 and a V8 ! and then argued with me
Steve Hodgson

I've got a 1955 Norton Model 19R.
At one of the rally's I went to, a man came up to me and said: "Young man, I once owned a BMW like yours, when I was your age!"
Lewis Williams

Is that a Jensen Interpreter?
Mark Rivron

Telling me my Maxi should be lowered!
Peter Thomson

All of us Singer owners are continually asked 'what's the connection with the sewing machines then?'
John Hadfield

 "Why are you getting so irate, it's only an old car" by an er "elderly person" who'd just reversed into the front of my just rebuilt Spitfire 1500 outside my office.....
Simon Stock

“Did they really make them to look like that from new?” Ford Squire.
Allan Broadbridge

"What is it mate?" - "A Morgan" - "No, I would recognise a Morgan, seriously, what kit is it?" "No, really, it's a 1954 Morgan." "No, listen Mate. Morgans never made 4 seaters and are not that old" "What do you think it is then?" "Dunno, some kind of kit, that's why I asked YOU!"
Guy Loveridge

While studying the badge on the grill. "What car is it?" 'A Morris 1800.' "Is it like a Morris Minor?" 'No! More like an 1800!' "What engine's in it?" '1800' "So what is it?" 'It's a Morris 1800.' "So what kind of car is it?" 'A family saloon car.' "Is it a Morris Minor?" 'No! It's an 1800!' Walks away clearly dissatisfied.
Jacob Theunissen

1 Comment

Amusing road signs

11/10/2018

0 Comments

 
Road signs sometimes tell you a great deal about the country they inhabit and its people.

This one brings back memories of Mum "navigating" from the front passenger seat back in the day ... apart from the apologising part, of course. Based on a Bristol sign.
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And some more in no particular order ...
0 Comments

Video from the Peak District Driving Tour May 2018

21/5/2018

0 Comments

 
by Paul Sweeney.
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It is our pleasure to present these video clips filmed by Garry "Gus" Brooks and John Ticehurst during the Peaks tour - its available below to view and download if you wish to keep a copy. Obviously, everyone there thoroughly enjoyed the tour - special thanks are due to Gar Cole and Phil Allin for taking on the not inconsiderable job of organising the tour - very well done, chaps!
To view the video, click the 'Play' button above. To download it to keep, click here.
0 Comments

The Weekly Groan: Pig!

26/3/2018

0 Comments

 
by 'Er Indoors
Eddie was driving down the road and a met a car coming the other way.  Although there was room to pass easily, Eddie forced the oncoming car to slow down and wound down his window and shouted 'Pig'.  
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The other driver looked in his rear view mirror and swore at Eddie. 

​Then his car hit the pig.
0 Comments

Classic Car & Restoration Show 2018 Gallery is live!

24/3/2018

0 Comments

 
Paul Sweeney
Picture
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Gar, Mike and the guys are busy at the NEC, Birmingham manning our club stand which is getting lots of visitors. A full account will be published in due course but for now we are posting photos and video from the event to give you a taste of what's happening.
View the Gallery
0 Comments

Chance meeting with a great British motor (and a smashing chap) in Napier

13/3/2018

2 Comments

 
by Paul Sweeney
I had been enjoying a catch up with my business partner Lesley at a local cafe and we were walking out to our cars when we saw a chap looking at Lesley's MX-5. After a short friendly talk, he casually mentioned, "I have an old Rover".

Antennae twitching, I leapt in: "What model? Where is it?" I asked eagerly, half expecting him to say it was something from the 1990s. Turned out "it" was parked nearby and before I knew it, the chap (his name was Steven) tossed me the keys and invited me to go and take a look. Well, it would be rude not to - and here's what I found ....
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The dust you see on the bonnet is pollen - Napier is covered in the stuff at this time of year.
Steve's "Old Rover" turned out to be a 1974 P6 3500. I sat inside - the first time I'd ever been inside a P6 - and it wasn't bad, not at all bad. After a minute, Steve came out of the building to join me and explained he'd owned the car for about two years and had done quite a bit of work on it, including swapping the gearbox for a Toyota Supra box. A glance under the bonnet revealed a gleaming labour of love with numerous obviously new parts:
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Steve told me he owned the cafe I had been sitting at, and being in need of additional capital to invest in the business, he had reluctantly decided to sell the Rover - its currently offered for sale on TradeMe with an asking price of NZ$7000. ​If you ask me, well worth further investigation by anyone looking for a P6 - although I admit personally the gearbox swap would put me off. I like 'em as Rover intended - but that's just my personal preference.
How many people do you know who would throw you a bunch of keys like that having just met you? Anyhow the point is, Steve hadnt heard of our club before, so I'm hoping he is now reading this - welcome to the club, Steve and good luck with the car!

Although secretly I can't help hoping he finds some other way to raise the capital he needs and holds on to his lovely old Rover. I've a sneaky feeling that if he finds a buyer, he will live to regret it.
2 Comments

10,000 members!

5/11/2016

0 Comments

 
by Paul Sweeney
Since its formation on 1 February 2014, our group has grown and now has 10,000 members – that’s quite a milestone! It’s difficult to picture so many people, but even so we are far from the biggest Facebook group dedicated to British motors – and to be honest, that was never our aim. 
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Being a group Admin is of course an unpaid role – so why do we do it? Why do we give up hefty chunks of our precious leisure time for what can at times be a thankless task? It’s certainly not because we have nothing else to do!

Our motivation is that all of us shared the same desire – to create a little corner of this interweb thingy where we could enjoy looking at old cars, talking about old cars and learning new stuff about them - without having to run the gauntlet of trolls, oafs, buffoons, marketing men or rude potty mouthed types that we wouldn’t otherwise choose to spend our leisure time with. There appeared to be no existing ‘all marque’ British forums out there that had managed to be oaf-less, so we set about making it happen for ourselves.

Our aims do mean we are sometimes accused of various things by those who cross swords with us – I have personally been called many uncomplimentary names, but trolls are mere lightweights in the personal insults Department when compared to my lovely ex-wife - she could have been an Olympic Insults Champion! But I digress ...we were accused of having no sense of humour, too … some used to call us, “The Fun Police” which really couldn’t be further from the truth, but it was said many times.

Anyone who has read one of Zebidee’s wonderfully zany and surreal posts, Mike's hilarious blogs featuring his alter ego Fatbloke and Poppy the 'Harold', Gar's shared public agonies and eventual victory as he struggled valiantly with Princess OKI - and plenty more I can't recall right now - will know that whilst we are serious and determined when we need to be, we are also keen to have a laugh as often as we possibly can while doing this. After all, if you can’t laugh or at least raise a smile when indulging yourself in a hobby, why bother?

So where am I leading with all this? Just to say one thing really; I’m sure most of you appreciate the Admin team’s efforts and in return we want to thank you all. Thank you for sharing with us your cars, your memories, your knowledge, your experience and most of all your wit, your warmth and your humanity.

​We have achieved what we weren’t even sure was possible when we started out on this road – we have created an online community to enjoy and be proud of. Long may it last.

Your Admin team

Zebidee
Mike
Gar
Edwin
Steve
Paul
John
So who are we, these 10,000? Initially, group membership was overwhelmingly British chaps of the warm beer, flat cap and whippet variety but increasingly our members now include men, women and children of all ages from every continent on the planet and from all walks of life. Around 25% of you do not live in Britain and that figure is growing every day.

Some are wealthy and privileged, others are unfortunately struggling with hardship or disability and ill-health. Most of us fall somewhere in between, but we all share a passion for old motors and that is what binds us all together.

There are numerous ‘regulars’ in the group who recognised early on what we were trying to build and have helped us enormously, so we want to say a special thank you to them; you know who you are.

Finally, a very big and heartfelt thank you from me to my loyal shipmates in the Admin team: Edwin, Steve, Mike, Gar, Zebidee and last but not least John Simpson, the group's founder. The team does a fantastic job keeping everything running just the way we like it. I’m sure the members appreciate what you all contribute to the group as much as I do; take a bow, guys.
​
So whoever and wherever you are - please keep enjoying the group, tell your friends about it and hopefully you will feel as proud of it as we are. That’s the reason we do it.
0 Comments

Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 11

8/5/2016

0 Comments

 
by Paul Sweeney
The Montego was in almost every way an improvement over the Maestro - so I was happy. Caravanning holidays ensued and the 1.6 engine pulled reasonably well, considering there were five of us plus luggage. 

And so to "That Holiday". I suspect most of you will have had one particularly bad holiday that becomes the stuff of family legend, endlessly retold and enhanced over the years; this was ours. In fact there was another one that was even worse now I think about it, but that one doesn't fit my "Buying Used Cars" theme so I'll 'park' that story for now (see what I did there?)
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What follows is to the best of my recollection a true account of what happened - without elaboration or exaggeration. This story really doesn't need any of that, frankly.

We had agreed to go on a week's caravanning holiday to a campsite somewhere in Devon with the in-laws. In this case that meant the sister of SWMBO (She Who Must Be Obeyed) and her young family. They would tow their caravan and we would tow ours.

On arrival, we parked cosily in adjoining pitches at the Haven campsite and very quickly learned that SWMBO's sister shouted a lot. Very loudly .. at her husband, her kids ..at the world in general, apparently. We could clearly hear what she was yelling even when we were inside our caravan with the door and windows firmly closed. We decided long before the end of the very first day that this joint holiday had not been such a great idea after all.
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We woke early the next morning and as usual I was first up and out of the caravan. We had an awning on the side of the van and I had often found the zippers on the doorways a bit fiddly, but this time I just couldn't unzip the damn things, no matter how hard I tried. The awning was very similar to the image below with doors at both ends of the long side. Neither door would unzip.
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Eventually - driven mainly by a now-urgent need to go to the toilet block across the camp site - I had to clamber out of one of the caravan windows. If you've ever tried to do that, you will know its not easy!

​Incidentally, we did have a chemical toilet inside, but SWMBO flat refused anyone permission to use that. Her less-than-poetic explanation, "I'm not sitting here stewing in the stench of your f*cking p*ss" still rings in my ears when I think back. Such a sweet-natured woman.

Having attended to my basic needs, I returned to examine the reluctant zippers from the outside .. and found one of these attached to each zip:
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What the hell was this? How did padlocks appear on our awning, and why?  It took quite a while to explain to SWMBO what was going on and why she couldn't get outside. Not a patient woman at the best of times, least of all when Her Ladyship's bladder was full! Unsurprisingly it soon became "OK" to use the chemical toilet that had been very definitely declared Out of Bounds to me only minutes earlier - funny, that. But I digress.

​The very helpful camp site manager eventually arrived with some tools and cut the locks off for us so the doors could be opened and everyone could escape.
Once I was able to examine the doorways, I found something else trapped in the groundsheet inside one of the entrances; it was a rough sketch. I wish I had kept the original but SWMBO destroyed it in a nuclear rage as soon as she clapped eyes on it. However, I remember it very well - I'm no artist, but here is my best effort to reproduce it for you.
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Clearly the sketch was intended to represent me (I was tall and slim in those days) and SWMBO - who it must be said had a low centre of gravity. Gradually the realisation dawned that someone thought SWMBO was the shouty woman when in fact it was her sister in the next caravan!

SWMBO had a helluva hissy fit when she saw the sketch, and marched over to wave it angrily in her noisy sister's face. Naturally, her sister refused to acknowledge that she had ever shouted at anyone and very loudly proclaimed that it couldn't possibly be directed at her. I idly considered simply driving away with the kids while the two of them raged at one another, but tempting as the idea was, that would only have caused tiresome ructions later.

I admit I found all of this highly amusing .. but just who had locked us in our awning and left the artwork? As I looked around for clues, it dawned on me that a pitch a few feet from ours was empty. The previous night it had been occupied by a young couple. So, unable to tolerate the din any longer they had - it appeared - packed up during the night and left, having first exacted their revenge on our awning! By the way, if you are reading this and it was you - thanks! Its a fantastic memory and I'm very grateful. 

For the remainder of that holiday, we avoided socialising with wifey's sister and just did our own thing. There was never again any talk of going on joint holidays, which was a blessing as far as I was concerned. Even SWMBO had no argument with that.

So back to cars - what about the Montego? I still liked it; it was comfortable and refined as a saloon car. However as a camping holiday vehicle I had to admit that it wasn't the most practical. When you go camping with children you have to take an enormous amount of stuff with you, and a saloon just doesn't cut it. 

Buying it was a mistake - although for my money, the Montego ranked alongside or above the British competition of the time. But yes, an estate car would have been a more practical choice. Despite this, I simply resolved to learn from the experience - I would know better next time but in the meantime, I'd have to put up with it.

I'd owned the Montego for almost a year when I spotted some rust on the bright white paintwork. Not just any old rust, but rust bubbling through from underneath and between seams. This was not good. Not good at all. And so before long, my mind turned to changing the car again. But what car should be next?

It should be an estate car, I had already decided. And enough of these budget models - it would be better to buy a slighter older but better quality car that would last longer. And a bigger engine to handle towing the caravan. Probably not British, then.

What kind of car fit that brief? Find out next time!

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 12

8/5/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
So the Montego saloon just wasn't a great camping wagon. I needed more space, more power and superior build quality. I was tired of changing cars every five minutes. I wanted a car I would enjoy owning, feel proud of and want to keep. Was that too much to ask?

​Those who have followed my sorry tales of car-related silliness and folly will recall that in the past I had spread my net far and wide when looking for used cars, but not this time. I lived in a pleasant village called Winterbourne on the outskirts of Bristol and as I was driving home one day, I noticed a car of interest parked outside the local used car dealership just half a mile from my house. 
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Winterbourne's village pond
It wasn't British of course - and by now I was once more starting to believe that might be a good thing - but it was a fairly big estate car with a bigger engine than my Montego and a marque with a genuine reputation for quality.

​Yes, it was a Volvo. A 240GL Estate to be precise, in a rather tasteful dark grey metallic that made the Volvo look really solid and classy. It was automatic, too - that appealed, as I'd never had an auto and was keen to try one. My Dad had a Volvo 144 saloon when I was a teen; he loved it and kept it for years - that was the experience I wanted.
I inspected the car closely, by now after years of running old British motors I had become almost obsessed with finding rust or signs of it. Nothing! This was more like it. A test drive revealed a rather old-fashioned but good quality interior that offered a cavernous load space; this would be fantastic for family camping trips. As for the ride, it was stately rather than sporty, but I didn't mind that one bit.

I did a deal and the Volvo was mine. I remember to this day washing and pampering it on the drive, then standing back and thinking how smart it looked. It felt solid, too. Rugged and able to withstand the inevitable rigours of family life. "If it's built for Sweden, surely it can survive Winterbourne", I thought to myself.
​
The first weekend away with the  Volvo soon arrived - and joy of joys, we had more space for stuff! Naturally SWMBO (She who Must Be Obeyed) and the kids simply brought more with them, so we actually ended up with less free space than we'd had in the Montego .. typical! Fuel consumption when towing the caravan was eye-wateringly poor - but then, we didnt go away every weekend, so what the heck. "Chasing economy above all else is what led you to the cars you've had before this one", I told myself wisely (or so I thought, anyway!).
That first camping trip with the Volvo was considerably better than my last story's 'Padlocked Awning' experience. We arrived fairly comfortably and calmly in North Devon somewhere near the little coastal village of Combe Martin. SWMBO quickly identified a good pitch on the camp site and we set everything up smoothly and without drama.

Another family arrived around an hour after us so having finished, I sat comfortably and not a little smugly on a folding chair with a drink, watching them setting up. The guy had spread his awning out flat on the ground beside the caravan and crawled inside to erect it using the telescopic poles.

His little boy - around 5 years old, I'd guess - was wandering around nearby and picked up the wooden mallet his Dad had carefully laid on the grass ready to hammer the pegs in. He walked about, swinging the mallet and pretending to hit things like he'd seen his Dad doing, the way small children do. 

While he was doing this, his Dad's outline could be seen inside the awning, moving around. The lad watched for a moment, then when the shape (which was his Dad's head) came close enough, he casually hefted the mallet and swung it, delivering a hefty 'wallop' onto the shape in the canvas. He'd hit his Dad hard on the head! There was a blood-curdling and indecipherable yell from within the acreage of canvas, then much flapping and swearing as the guy frantically tried to get out from under the canvas - presumably to get at the lad.

The boy suddenly realised what he had done and began wailing so loudly his mother came running to console him. Amusingly, she asked him in that 'special' idiot voice some people reserve for young children and puppies, "Awww did you hit Daddy on the head? Silly Daddy hiding under the awning, isn't he?"

​By this time, "Daddy" had managed to free himself and screamed at her, "What the hell do you mean, 'Silly Daddy', you stupid wench? That little **** just walloped me on the head with a f*cking mallet!" 

I had to admit, it was wonderful to witness someone else's misfortune; discretely I retired to a safe distance where I felt free to cackle without revealing to the poor chap that I had watched the whole painful thing unfold. It wasn't easy to avoid grinning like a fool when he politely greeted me later that day.
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Combe Martin, near Ilfracombe, North Devon
All was well. Now our camping trips were almost bearable - the Dream Team combination of a more suitable car AND the absence of the ghastly in-laws made caravanning seem almost bearable.

​Almost - but not quite. I still never managed to enjoy:
  • squeezing past people every time I wanted to move inside the van
  • pretending I liked playing cards on long dark nights - I don't
  • tramping across wet fields in the dark for a shower or the toilet
  • repeatedly wiping condensation from caravan windows trying to gauge how soon the rain will stop
  • trying to pack away a humongous awning that was soaking wet and weighed more than a box girder bridge
  • cooking breakfast for five people on a miniature hob with feeble bottled gaz flames
  • failing to get the small humans to do anything to help without a massive argument over it

​In the final analysis, I could sum it all up as, "Why am I paying to endure this discomfort when I could have stayed in my relatively spacious home among all the things I enjoy?"

​So if you have ever asked me about camping, you might now understand why I may have seemed somewhat less than enthusiastic.
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A gorgeous Cornwall beach
It all came to a head on one particularly long trip home from Cornwall. As usual, the best weather of the week was reserved for that moment when we were finally packed and ready to begin the long trek home to Bristol from St Ives.

Around half way home, I stopped at a petrol station to refuel the aircraft carrier (Volvo). I misjudged the pump position, driving forward slightly too far, so engaged reverse in order to move back a foot or so. A hideous grinding sound came from the gearbox and I fairly quickly established that only forward gears could now be selected.

I later found out it was a known problem that towing caused the Volvo auto box to overheat, resulting in damage when selecting reverse. A gearbox cooling device was available to cure the problem, but that information came too late for me.

We finally arrived home, my mood dark as I contemplated the cost of an auto gearbox repair or replacement. My Dad's oft-uttered words of advice haunted me now: "Never buy an automatic, son - it's just more to go wrong". At that time, I wished I'd listened, Dad. I decided I would seek a trade-in deal and thereby avoid the repair.

Next time - another car comes into our lives and proves to be perfect for everyday use and an awesome towing vehicle, too; but I hadn't quite managed to put an end to the whole camping experience yet.

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 9

30/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
The sudden and violent demise of the MK2 Escort and subsequent arrival of the very welcome insurance monies meant I could seek out my next used car. I don't think I have mentioned that we now had a wolf pack of three small humans, so car space was at a premium and that had to be factored into my thinking.

In 1983 BL had launched the Austin Maestro, a new car to replace the Allegro (I'd had an Allegro as a second car during my Vauxhall period in Birmingham) and I decided to investigate as I really couldnt face the idea of another Cortina, and the MK2 Cavalier just didnt appeal to me.

"Which" magazine said this about the Maestro:
The Maestro was launched in March 1983. In its summing up of the new car the Consumers' Association, in the June edition of its Which?journal, described it as roomy, comfortable, and nice to drive, and said "If you are considering buying one now, our advice, based on our first impressions, is to go ahead". In January 1984, after testing the car, they concluded: "In comparison with opposition of a similar price and body size, the Maestro has a clear advantage on room for passengers, with few cars equalling it for comfort either in the front or back". They also considered it to be a serious rival to the higher-segment Vauxhall Cavalier and Ford Sierra, apart from its smaller boot space.
Like many of us at the time, I was of course fully aware of BL's troubles but desperately wanted them to succeed - so if they really had produced a decent car that suited my needs, I was definitely open to giving them a chance. I decided to find one for sale and see how it went.

The first Maestro I found on offer at the right price point was some distance away from my home in Bristol - at a small used car dealership in Shepton Mallet, Somerset. Somebody kindly gave me a ride there and I inspected the Maestro. I was surprised by it's size; it was quite tall, wide and modern-looking. Inside, it was cavernous - a huge step up from the limited interior of the MK2 Escort - and it was also well appointed for its time and price point. 
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It was a 1600; 1.6L I think - in dark blue. I took it for a test drive and was very pleasantly surprised - compared to the Escort, the Maestro was comfortable, quiet and powerful. I really enjoyed throwing it around the country lanes of Somerset and when I returned to the dealer, a deal was soon done.

​The dealer was a decent fellow in fact - when he heard my story of woe (the Escort being written off) he immediately offered me free use of his courtesy car for the few days he needed to prepare the Maestro for collection.
Naturally, I gratefully accepted and he disappeared for a short while to bring the courtesy car to me. After 10 minutes or so, he appeared driving the yellowest MK1 Fiesta I'd ever seen! It seemed to run OK, so I happily thanked him and drove it back to Bristol.
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It was early Summer, and to begin with, I drove along with the driver's window open - but soon had a large bee in the car with me. I stopped and ushered it out (I'm not one for killing bees) and continued my journey - but very quickly had another bee joining me along with quite an assortment of other insects. Again, I stopped and cleared the car of wildlife, then closed the window before resuming my journey.

When I arrived home, my daughters came excitedly running out of the house to see "Daddy's new car" but soon ran screaming back inside when they were almost instantly surround by bees, wasps and various other bugs. Then it dawned on me - it was the car! The darn thing was such a bright yellow, the insects were seemingly mistaking it for a large flower - either it was the car or me and my money was on the car.

So it was with some relief a few days later that I returned the Fiesta to its owner and brought the Maestro home. All was well; the Maestro did exactly what it said on the tin and never let me down. Thanks BL - you did get it right sometimes, even if the haters won't admit it.

Next time - something catches my eye

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 8

28/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
With the Astra gone, I needed new transport - cue my next used car search! So what would it be? Something simple, cheap to run and suitable for carrying a young family. That felt suspiciously like my old selection criteria of, "dull, British and thoroughly normal" to me, which was a tad depressing.

Would it be another Cortina? No - that was just too tiresome to contemplate. It would have to be something else - but what? I decided - as time was not on my side - to be open-minded. Options were anything family car-sized from Ford, Vauxhall or BL - any of those would be considered. I still felt nervous about foreign cars after my Renault experience, so didn't consider them when poring over the classified ads (we are now 1986, so still very much pre-internet).
To maximise my chances, I decided to look at private sellers as well as dealers. The first car I went to view was a gold 4-door Ford Escort 1.3L - a private sale. Surprisingly given my previous experiences, the owner was completely normal and so was the car. In fact, it was absolutely ... errmm .. OK... and the price was reasonable, so I bought it without any hint of hilarity or strange behaviour. (Bet that surprised you!)
Picture
Not my actual Escort, but mine was T reg and gold with a brown vinyl roof.
Driving the Escort was unremarkable but acceptable. I don't remember much about it really, except that it was competent - a good, sensible solution at the time. Did I like it or enjoy driving it? The truth is, I didn't care about it enough to even consider that - it was no more than a means of getting from A to B, and the best I could afford at the time. Other priorities took charge at this time of my life.

The only trip in the Escort that stands out in my memory (for reasons you will come to appreciate) was a day trip we took as a family sometime after our relocation back to Bristol.

My daughters were growing and like all small humans they loved animals, so we settled on a day trip to Longleat Safari Park, which was around 45 mins drive from home on the outskirts of Bristol.
We arrived safely and as you may know, the system at Longleat is that you drive around the animal enclosures in your own car. We did so and the small humans made all the right noises as we saw each type of animal - until we stopped in the monkey enclosure.

​I must have been distracted, else I would have skipped the monkeys - but I didn't. The moment the car stopped, monkeys appeared from out of nowhere and leaped onto the Escort, clearly well aware that vinyl roofs were merely glued on and intent on ripping it off.

The children were by this time screaming in terror as the monkeys bounced around on the car, pulling on the vinyl roof, windscreen wipers, door mirrors and anything else they thought they could detach. It was like a madhouse inside the car - kids screaming and crying, wifey yelling at me over the noise to do something quickly - so I did.

I decided in a sudden indignant rage that those monkeys were NOT going to damage my car. What I did was to select 1st gear, rev the engine hard and execute a series of perfect learner driver-style kangaroo hops interspersed with 'ohmygodweareallgoingtodie' - force braking of steadily increasing violence until I had finally dislodged all the monkeys.

The moment we were clear of them, I raced toward the enclosure exit gates some 100 yards away which were already opening. Presumably the park rangers had been watching and were trying to help - and probably laughing themselves silly at our antics.

​Seconds later we were out of there, and gradually wife and kids began to calm down. She didn't even criticise, which was something of a surprise. Thank God we didn't have a Reggie Perrin moment - if you remember that episode, his grandchild did, "Ploopy-plops" whilst navigating Longleat Safari Park.

The remainder of the visit was uneventful although I think we were all slightly shaken by the monkey experience and no longer in the mood to make the most of the trip. Little did we know, the worst was still to come.

After a time and an ice-cream or two, wifey and I agreed to make our way home and left the park to head home along the pleasant winding country roads of Wiltshire.

Unfortunately, no more than 5 miles from Longleat, we were hit head-on by another car whilst stationary. I had pulled over and stopped because I saw the other car approaching at high speed on my side of the road quite some time before it collided with the Escort. It was one of those moments when time seems to go into slow-motion - I watched almost impassively as the car approached, impact inevitable.

The small humans were asleep in their child seats in the back and were woken by the violent impact, but unharmed. Wifey and I were both able to get out of the car - also unharmed.

The Escort however had taken a very severe impact to the offside front. It definitely wasn't drivable and was almost certainly destined for the crusher - it was declared a total loss by my insurance company a few days later. 

I suppose on reflection that is the closest I have come thus far to dying at the wheel. As it turned out, all it really meant was that yet again I now needed to source another used car.

​But what would it be this time? You will have to wait for the next episode to find out!

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 7

27/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
Since relocating to Tamworth, wifey and I had somehow acquired two of the small humans commonly known as children. These little creatures had a curious effect on the previously very unsentimental Mrs S, who suddenly became extremely homesick for Bristol.

We had been in the Midlands for some five years by then. All I really wanted was a quiet life and with no real objection to going back home, plans were made. I sought a job transfer back to Bristol with my employer CIS, but they had no suitable vacancies at the time, so I got a new position with National Westminster Insurance Services of Bristol instead.
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This of course meant handing back my company Astra. My job in Birmingham had brought with it the right to park in the company parking facilities under our office building, and on my last day Head Office sent two skinny youths down from Manchester to collect the car. I blame the air 'up North' personally. 

The car park had numerous awkwardly-placed pillars dotted about - they were something to do with holding the building up apparently - and on that day I'd had to park the Astra against one of them. I knew that getting the car safely in and out of that particular space required no small degree of expertise and practice, so when the young guy demanded the car keys from me, I explained the issue and offered to back the car out for him so he could drive off safely and easily. ​
Picture
The CIS car park was similar to this one
"No" he answered - a bit snappily, I thought. "Just give me the keys - I do know how to drive". "In that case, you will have to sign this paper confirming the car was received from me in A1 condition before I'm giving you the keys" I retorted (luckily I had typed it up beforehand precisely in case this scenario arose). He rolled his eyes, sighed but signed the statement, whereupon I handed him the keys.

No doubt keen to demonstrate his driving prowess, the lad practically leapt into the Astra, started her up and immediately reversed rapidly, rubbing the whole of the Astra's nearside along the pillar in the process. Did I mention that the pillars were painted with bright yellow and black stripes? Quite noticeable along the side of my dark red Astra, that yellow paint was - not to mention the dent in the rear wheel arch.

"Oh that was unfortunate" I called to him as I took photographs of the damaged car while it was still wedged against the pillar (I am a fully-trained insurance assessor, you know!). "You appear to have done some damage to the car, but it looks like the pillar is OK. Don't worry, I'll fax this (waving the statement I had made him sign) to Head Office while you are driving back to Manchester and follow up with the photos, so they know exactly what's happened."


He didn't answer. Instead he roared off out of the car park closely followed by his pal in the car they had arrived in, leaving me with an amused grin on my face. ​I never did hear from the company about it.
So with the Astra gone, I once again was in need of transport - cue my next used car search! I'd had two brand new cars but couldn't possibly afford that out of my own funds - so what would it be? Something old and familiar probably - simple, cheap to run and suitable for carrying a young family. That felt suspiciously like my old selection criteria of, "dull, British and thoroughly normal" to me, which was a tad depressing.

So would it be another Cortina? No - that was just too tiresome to contemplate. It would have to be something else - but what? Find out next time!
​

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 6

25/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
So the time had come to say goodbye to my little Nova; I'd never really been sorry to see a car go before, but this time I was. Still, another new car would be exciting and this one would be bigger, faster, better, right? Well no, as it turned out.
Picture
The Astra looked like this but was dark red
I arrived to collect the Astra and there it was, waiting ready for me on the dealer's forecourt. Shiny, brand new with that special smell only new cars have. I immediately took off for a spin. Compared to the Nova, it was bigger inside and out; it had four doors, a bigger engine and was a little better equipped. It was quiet and smooth as you'd expect of a new car .... and yet there was something missing. It wasn't fun.

​That initial disappointment grew deeper when I found old vans passing me on hills -surely there was something wrong? This Astra was at the time the European Car of the Year but it had no, "Get up and go".

​I took it unhappily to the main dealer, Wilnecote Motors of Tamworth to investigate and they quickly informed me there was nothing wrong with the car - and perhaps there wasn't. I'll never know, but what I do know is the sparkly, lively character I had enjoyed so much in the Nova was completely absent from the Astra.
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This Opel variant is the colour of my Astra
I was disappointed, but there was nothing I could do about it; it was a company car and I just had to live with it until it was time to change again. At least I didn't need to do any maintenance on it, which left me more time for other jobs around the house.

One weekend I decided I couldnt put off mowing the front lawn any longer and pulled out my little Qualcast electric mower. It was the cylinder type and as I started mowing I noticed that all it was doing was flattening the grass, which sprang back up a few minutes later; it was barely cutting the grass at all!
Picture
Not my actual mower, but the same type
I fetched my toolkit and patiently took the thing apart. I cleaned, oiled, adjusted and even sharpened the blades before carefully reassembling everything. I plugged it in, fired her up and .... it was even worse than before!

Muttering dark threats, I took it apart again; I must have missed something, so this time I even broke the Golden Rule of Blokedom - incredible as it may seem, I fetched the Owners' Instruction Booklet and did exactly what it said. Down to every last detail.

Reassembly complete, I eagerly plugged the power cord in once more and tried it on the front lawn. The result? No change. Well, not strictly true - it was as good as it had been before I tried to fix it the first time - meaning it still wasn't actually cutting the grass. 

I decided the bottom plate against which the revolving cylinder blades strike was bent, so I went to the local B&Q and bought a new one - that would fix it! It didn't - well, maybe a marginal improvement, but no more.

By this time I was getting a tad hot and bothered - and had pretty much lost interest in mowing the lawn until my dear wifey yelled from the living room window, "Are you still ******ing around with that ****ing mower?" in the sweet tones she seemed to reserve just for me. "I'm getting there", I lied gamely as I took the mower apart one more time.

This time, I disassembled the mower almost completely - I had a dozen or so odd-shaped bits of cheap metal lying around me. Again I checked, cleaned and re-fitted the entire thing, then spent quite a while adjusting the blade clearance to as near perfection as I could. This was it ... the moment of truth had come.

I plugged the power cord in again, pulled the '"start" lever and set off across the lawn once more. I got to the far end of the lawn and did a smart 180 degree turn, looking back expectantly to see the fruits of my labours - and saw a neat strip of flattened uncut grass already beginning to return to the vertical position. At that very moment, Mrs S yelled "Are you coming in or not?" (expletives omitted) and it was then that I finally cracked. 

I yanked on the power cord so hard the plug pinged out from the power point a few yards away, then I picked up the mower by it's handle and began circling it around my head wildly (think of a puny version of Geoff Capes throwing the hammer and you pretty much get the idea). After a few complete circuits accompanied by yours truly yelling I know not what, I let go of it. 

Now if I'm honest, I suppose I imagined the mower sailing majestically across our front garden, bouncing in slow motion as it hit the ground and exploding dramatically into a thousand pieces. What actually happened was the control lever caught in my sleeve which tore - and the mower along with half of my shirt landed pretty much at my feet, completely undamaged. 

My neighbours (for they were surely observing from their hide nearby) didn't say a word, coming as it did after the infamous Cortina-kicking incident, but I'm fairly sure I heard squeaking sounds remarkably like suppressed sniggering.

​Wifey meanwhile had watched the whole thing from the house, and to my surprise had a rare grin on her face that soon turned to a chuckle until it became a most unladylike guffaw. I had to admit, I must have looked pretty ridiculous and before long I was laughing too. I can't offhand recall any other time when we both laughed together like that, although I suppose it must have happened occasionally.

Next time - a new job results in another search for a used car! 

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 5

24/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
Work was changing at the Cooperative Insurance Society and I was being asked to spend 3 days a week out on the road investigating claims, which I rather enjoyed. However, I felt it was only a matter of time before my used Cortina would let me down, which would have been awkward - so I joined the company car scheme.
This meant sacrificing some of my salary (the CIS was not a generous employer), then the maximum price of the car was a multiple of the pre-sacrifice figure. We were allowed to negotiate our own price with the dealers. I soon realised this meant I could only stretch to a small car, but I didn't care - it would be new!

I eagerly researched prices of Ford Fiestas and Escorts - they were surprisingly expensive - and also for completeness the Austin Metro; but I just said a flat "No" to that one. There really wasn't much else on the market apart from the aging Renault 5 - but I'd still not forgiven Renault for the R12 - and some Japanese cars I regarded with suspicion (probably foolishly).

Then I discovered that Vauxhall had just launched a new 'Supermini' to replace the Chevette. With fond memories of my old Viva HB, I decided to look into this new Vauxhall Nova, as it was named.
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The only photo I have of my Viva - taken at a North Wales campsite.
Well, it all stacked up; the spec was pretty good for its time, the styling was modern and sharp and road tests were full of approving comments. Honest John's web site says this about the Nova:

"The Nova (unlike the Chevette) was a grown-up offering with as much practicality as any of its rivals. The Nova - or Corsa as it was known elsewhere - was available with 1.0-, 1.2- and 1.3-litre engines from launch but the range rapidly expanded over the coming years.
​

Five-door hatchback was useful, two- and four-door saloons were forgettable, while the 1989 1.6-litre GTE was easily capable of seeing off the Ford Fiesta XR2. And that was the main accomplishment of the Spanish-built  Nova - it beat the Ford Fiesta and Austin Metro on the road but never out of the showroom. But it paved the way for the phenomenally successful Corsa."

Not only did it seem to be a good little car, I wouldn't have to have the entry-level 1.0 model! I could afford to go for the 1.2 litre 3 door model - and that was enough to convince me. Next, I called a couple of local Vauxhall dealers and found one of them had two 1.2 hatches in stock in a choice of either brown or blue. Blue it was, then. The car looked exactly like this one apart from the colour:
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I was in such a hurry to get my hands on the Nova, I didn't even take one for a test drive; I reasoned there was no point, since I had already decided I was having it! Just a few days later, I collected the car and she was - to all intents and purposes - mine.

It was an instant love affair with the Nova. Compared to the dreary old rot boxes I'd owned before she was light, modern, nippy, quiet and remarkably refined. It took me a while to get used to not being able to hear the engine at idle.

As mentioned in the last instalment of this tale, I have absolutely no idea what I did with my old Cortina. I just didn't care about it at all and never looked back.

So, I began driving the Nova for work - often racking up 250+ miles in one day - and it was an absolute delight. I had it for around 18 months and it never put a foot wrong. All I ever did was refill the fuel and put water in the screen washer.
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Nova interior
One of the many insurance calls I made in my little Nova sticks in my mind to this day, so I will share it with you.

I had driven around 80 miles to a house in Stoke-on-Trent to visit a homeowner claiming for storm damage to a flat garage roof. It was this kind of thing:
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Typical flat garage roof
As anyone who has had the misfortune to own property built this way will know, the bitumen/felt roof covering becomes brittle with age, when it cracks and allows rainwater to leak through into the chipboard beneath, which swells and finally collapses.

Normal life expectancy for one of these roofs was around 12 years back then. So, on arrival at the house, the friendly owner already had his extension ladder up against the garage so we could climb up for a look. The purpose was for me to look for evidence of damage caused by a storm - and I already had with me the weather report for the date it was claimed to have happened which was 'calm and overcast'.

As soon as I got up there, it was very clear to me that the roof was simply at the end of it's life and needed replacement. Put simply, this was not 'Storm damage' as covered by insurance policies, it was, "You have a mouldy old felt roof that leaks" time! I had learned from experience not to tell the guy the bad news while we were still standing on his garage roof, so I climbed carefully back down to terra firma and waited for him to join me.

Once he had done so, I gently and politely explained the above to him and told him that the insurance company would not be paying for his new roof. He quietly said, "OK" and we bid one another farewell. As I started walking towards the Nova parked about 50-75 yards away (I never parked too close just in case!), I heard a kind of strangled yelp and turned to see the man had grabbed his extension ladder and was starting to run towards me, twirling it like a huge baton above his head and screaming incoherently in my direction.
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I didn't need to be told to get out of there and ran towards my car as quickly as I could, burdened as I was with a heavy leather brief case, camera and other tools of my trade.

I made it to the car, jumped in and drove straight towards the guy fairly rapidly.

​He jumped out of my way and stood watching as I continued in the direction of his house, where I could see his wife waving frantically at me to stop.


I wasn't daft enough to do that, but I did slow down a little and open my car window enough to hear her calling out in rather a posh voice, "I'm so sorry - he gets like this sometimes!" Even in the heat of the moment, I couldn't help grinning to myself as I drove away. The company never heard from the man again - he even renewed his house policy with us the following year!

Before too much longer the company told me I should change the car for a new one as the business mileage alone was 26,000 in less than 18 months. That suited me, as my then wife had recently given birth to our first child, so a bigger car would be handy. As I still liked the Nova so much, I decided to go for the new-ish Astra model, which I assumed would be the same - but bigger.

More of that next time.

More from Paul Sweeney ...

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 3

23/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
My search for a used car that was 'dull, British and thoroughly normal' continued despite some bizarre encounters (see part 2).  I found another car for sale that fit my criteria (a Ford Cortina 1.6L, naturally) and made an appointment with the seller to view the car.
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The "very inspiring" MK4 Cortina dash
To my dismay, the inner-city address that I found with the help of my trusty Birmingham A-Z book (satellite navigation devices were still the stuff of science fiction back in the 1980s) turned out to be one of the many high-rise tower blocks 'gracing' the Birmingham City skyline.

Well, I'd come quite a distance, so I wasnt going to turn around without at least viewing the car. I pressed the, "Call Lift" button and waited with low expectations for the lift to arrive. To my surprise it came after what seemed like mere days waiting in the heavily graffiti-ed entrance to the building.  
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High-Rise tower blocks in Birmingham
I stepped into the lift and was at once almost overcome by the strong acrid smell of urine - dear God, didn't these people have toilets indoors? The address was on the 19th floor and eventually the lift doors opened with an ear-splitting grinding sound. The landing was large and cold with a bare concrete floor, but I saw the door I needed opposite and walked across quickly to ring the doorbell before I changed my mind and got the hell out of there.

I heard a faint voice call from inside, "Just a minute" so I waited. I waited quite a while. Eventually, the door opened a crack and I was confronted by a lad of about 15 who was naked from the waist down. His nose was streaming green snot as he said, "Sorry, I've got the shits real bad. Do you want to see the car?"

​As I wondered how to respond and doing my best to play it cool and not look surprised by his appearance, I finally nodded and managed a feeble, "Yes please". He shuffled away (his trousers and underpants were still around his ankles), re-appearing a minute later with a car key in his grimy hand. I reluctantly took it and with no small amount of relief, retreated from the 19th floor horror show I had just witnessed to the lift doors. Luckily the other lift answered my call - the smell of urine wasn't quite so strong in this one. 

I followed the boy's directions and soon found the car parked outside the building. To my surprise, it looked quite presentable. I checked around it, then opened the driver's door expecting to encounter something ghastly inside - but no, it looked and smelled remarkably clean. Perhaps this was the one after all!
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Sadly 1980s graffiti wasnt as thoughtful as this
I started the engine and drove away from the flats into the busy Birmingham traffic - this was going quite well! I drove for 5 minutes or so - around 3 miles - when the engine began spluttering and finally stopped completely, allowing me just enough time to pull over to a lay-by. Some advanced technical investigation by yours truly (I checked the fuel gauge) revealed lack of the liquid gold to be the cause. 

So, I imagine you think I then called someone for help, right? Wrong .. no mobile phones in 1982 - or at least, those you could buy required a small mortgage and weighed more than your average house brick. So, I walked ... I walked every one of the 3 miles back to the High Rise Horror Show, having first carefully locked the car and taken note of the road where it had stopped.

When the boy answered the door, I was relieved to see that this time he had his trousers on and had made at least a cursory attempt to clear his face of snot. "What is it?" he asked as if he'd never seen me before. "Your car has no petrol, so here's the key and the address where its parked" (I'd cunningly written it down by this time).

"Oh, I'll get you a petrol can so you can buy some more and bring the car back here" said the boy, thus managing his longest and clearest utterance since we first met. "No" I told him, "it's not my problem - just tell your Mum or whoever where it is. I'm leaving now".

He looked surprised but I left before he had a chance to reply; thankfully the lift was already on my floor and I was able to leave that ghastly place quite quickly. I felt an urgent need for a thorough shower; clearly I had thus far led a sheltered and relatively privileged life. On the way home I made a mental note to thank my parents for providing a clean, warm and decent home for my siblings and me to grow up in.

All of the above led me to a new conclusion: I had been wrong. Used car dealers probably were the best place to look for my next set of wheels after all! 

Next time - I finally manage to purchase a car that is dull, British and thoroughly normal - so that would be a Ford Cortina, obviously.

More from Paul Sweeney ...

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 1

23/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
I was thinking about the cars I owned back in the 1980s and how I came to have them. I will start in 1982 ... I had moved with my (now ex) wife and young family from Bristol to Birmingham. "Be brave to get on in life" thought I. Yeah, right.
Anyway I had a pale blue M reg Renault 12TL at the time. Not a great choice as it turned out, since it rusted as badly if not worse than British cars of the time, and was also utterly hopeless at going around bends. Lovely in a straight line, but bends? Forget it!

I regularly drove slowly along, trying desperately to avoid a degree of body roll reminiscent of the Titanic's fatal voyage - all the while feeling hugely embarrassed as a long line of traffic built up behind me. 
Picture
A Renault 12 in the same colour as mine
I'm guessing there arent many R12s left, as I had quite a bit of trouble finding a photo of one in the same pale blue as mine; as you can see the car pictured is LHD and has weird wheels, but you get the idea.

One experience with the Renault is indelibly burned in my memory - driving home through central Birmingham on a 6-lane highway near an infamously busy junction called Five Ways, the gear lever suddenly stopped doing anything; I was in 3rd gear and no amount of knob wiggling was going to change it.

I happened to be in an underpass when this happened. The traffic was nose-to-tail, stop/start with no footpaths or hard shoulder and so I had to coax the weedy Renault into moving forward from a standstill in 3rd gear on an uphill incline - several times. The engine roared impotently and smoke billowed from the clutch, but eventually I made it with much cursing and sweating.


Picture
Five Ways, Birmingham; the underpass can be seen dead centre of the image
Eventually I managed to pull off the road and looked underneath the car. Even to my relatively untrained eye, the cause was obvious; there was a linkage hanging loose directly under the gear lever.

​Luckily the plates holding the thing had holes for the nuts & bolts which had previously been holding this crude contraption together, so I simply measured the holes and bought new ones of a similar size. Lying on the ground, I bolted the linkage back together and - success! My car was good as new .. or good enough, anyway.
Not long afterwards, I decided my experiment with having a French car was a definite failure. I resolved to buy something more sensible, so I set off to the car dealers in the fair city of Birmingham, determined to change it for something dull, British and thoroughly normal - so that would be a Cortina, obviously!

More of that next time.

More from Paul Sweeney ...

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 4

23/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
I'd had enough of private sellers and strange happenings so ventured out across 1980s West Midlands once more in search of used car dealers - and this time, I went looking for the smaller, "corner" dealers where I hoped prices might be lower.
Picture
MK4 Ford Cortina
I soon found a small car yard with a red Cortina for sale which looked to be in pretty good condition. However, it happened to be parked next to one of these:
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Fiat 131 Supermirafiori
I had never considered a Mirafiori before, but it looked somewhat more interesting than the Ford. It had a twin cam engine with an alloy head too and sounded rather tasty when the salesman started it. And it was a little cheaper than the Cortina.

​Very tempting indeed, a bit of Italian style. The legendary Triumph Harold was Italian-designed, so they couldn't be all bad, I reasoned. "Go on" urged the wicked voice in my head, "just take it for a little ride .. you know you want to". And I did want to ... but then the Ghost of Johnny Foreigners Past came into my mind ... the now hated Renault 12. That hadn't gone at all well ... and everyone knows all Italian cars are rubbish, right? Best stick with what I knew - the Cortina.

And so it came about that I bought the Cortina, telling myself it was the sensible buy. I had little excitement or enthusiasm for the car even while buying it, and that was to remain true throughout my ownership of the MK4.

Truth be told, I remember very little about it. I have no recollection whatsoever of driving it, but I do recall that I briefly used it for work. At the time, I worked as an insurance investigator and often had to make house calls to claimants.

One day I was to visit a large house on the outskirts of Coventry; the house had been burgled and I was sent to investigate. The home owners were wealthy scrap metal dealers; I drove through a pair of somewhat pretentious double gates onto a circular gravel drive in my red Cortina, which crunched its way pleasingly across the driveway. There was a Rolls-Royce of some sort (sorry but they all look the same to me) parked outside a garage to one side, and even a small roundabout directly outside the front door of the house. Not quite the Trevi Fountain, but you get the idea.

I parked at the side near the Rolls, considerately trying to make sure my car wasn't in anyone's way. I walked over and rang the doorbell, which was answered by the lady of the house, a well-dressed but very common woman smoking a cigarette from one of those silver holders reminiscent of Hollywood movie stars from the silent age. I introduced myself and asked if my car was alright where I had parked it (meaning was it out of the way?).

She looked across at my Ford and uttered the immortal words, "I don't think anyone will bother with that thing here, do you?" (meaning it wasn't a nice enough car to be stolen when her Roller was nearby). I may not have been particularly proud of my Cortina but that one snobby remark cost her dearly on her claim settlement - not that she ever knew it!

My only other memory of that car was when it failed the MOT test - the rear brakes needed new shoes. I was confident I could do it myself easily enough, and jacked the car up on the drive outside my house. More than two hours later, I was at the end of my tether, still trying to fit the new brake shoes. Eventually, I got so annoyed and frustrated that I jumped up and delivered a massive flying kick to the drivers door, yelling something ridiculous like, "Let that be a lesson to you, you absolute bast**d piece of cr*p!"

I kicked the Cortina so hard I dented the door and had in fact broken my big toe. I sat cross-legged on the front lawn nursing said toe (it was already starting to hurt) when I became aware of much giggling from next door - the neighbours had watched my entire hissy fit unfold, much to my embarrassment! "Oh Paul" they laughed, "you're so funny when you are cross!" "Hmmmm ... is that so?" I seethed silently.

Not long after this - early in 1984 - I had been using my car increasingly for business use, so decided to take up the offer of a company car from my employer. As a result, the Cortina was consigned to history. To this day and try as I might, I have absolutely no idea how I disposed of that car. It had made so little impression on me that I just didn't care about it at all.

I wonder what stories I would be telling now if I had instead bought the Mirafiori? Tales of terrifyingly fast corrosion and unreliable electrics, probably.

Next time - my very first new car...

More from Paul Sweeney ...

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Buying used cars ain't what it used to be! Part 2

22/4/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
So, the Renault had to go. I made my way into Birmingham and spent an entire day touring grim used car yards that mostly presented their cars amidst the same depressing vistas of stained, crumbling concrete, grey skies and high prices.
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I concluded I wouldn't find anything decent that I could afford at a dealer, so turned my attention instead to the private used car ads. Yes, this was pre-internet and the only way was to buy a local newspaper and scan the classified ads - which were often mis-categorised. Many a 'find' could be had by looking in the wrong places!

Eventually after much circling of increasingly unlikely 'possibles' and after discarding all the cars I actually found appealing (Rovers, Jaguars etc) on the grounds they would cost too much to run (the ghost of my Dad at work there!) I found an ad for a MK4 Cortina 1.6L - dull, British and thoroughly normal. Perfect!

​So I dialled the number and the call was answered by a pleasant-sounding woman who said her husband was out of town but she would happily show me the car.

So off I went to (I think) somewhere along the A5 towards Walsall ... and found the car parked outside a fairly tidy semi-detached house. Quite promising - so I rang the doorbell. The woman answered and said I could test drive the car but she would reverse it off the drive for me as "It's a bit tricky". I wasn't going to argue as that would give me a chance to check the exhaust for smoke (I was alone so couldnt do that and drive too). All was well when she started the engine, then I stepped aside as she revved the engine then suddenly shot backwards off the drive.

Unfortunately, she continued backward straight across the road, stopping only when the car collided quite forcibly with a brick wall on the opposite side. There was damage. She drove forward again, parking neatly on the correct side of the road then got out, asking, "Do you want to take her for a spin now?" as if nothing had happened. Stifling a giggle, I replied "Actually I don't think I will, thank you" and got out of there as fast as I could! I've often wondered what she told her husband.
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My next attempt to acquire a Cortina was similarly unsuccessful. Again a housewife showed me the car (housewives - remember those? That dates these stories - this was back in the days when Grandparents were allowed to enjoy their retirement in peace rather than being seen as free childcare providers).

After a visual inspection and starting the engine, I was satisfied that the car was worth a test drive. So, I got settled behind the wheel, checked the gearbox and moved away..... all of 250 yards down the street, when an almighty CLANG stopped me in my tracks. I pulled over to the side of the road and became aware of small children pointing and laughing from their front gardens .... and what the blue blistering blazes was that noise? Fortunately it stopped when I took the key out of the ignition to investigate what was causing such merriment in the streets of not-even-slightly- sunny Birmingham.

I stepped away from the car to see the entire Cortina exhaust system (all but the manifold) lying some yards behind the car in the street. The damn thing had fallen off, complete!

I made my way on foot the 250 yards or so to the seller's front door. She must have seen me approaching, because she opened the door as I walked up the garden path. She looked extremely embarrassed, so without exchanging a single word, I placed the Cortina keys in her hand, smiled weakly, turned and walked away.

Having had such an eventful and really quite amusing time I wasn't about to give up, so my car search continued - but that's for next time....

More from Paul Sweeney ...

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My Dad's Cars Part 3 - Ford Cortina

25/2/2016

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by Paul Sweeney
The first instalment concerned the redoubtable Standard Vanguard (see Part 1) and ended when Dad reluctantly sold it in order to change to a smaller, lighter car more suitable for my mother to drive. Enter the Triumph Herald, which died dramatically on the occasion of it's first MOT test (see Part 2).
Picture
The Ford Consul Cortina
So there we were, the whole family stranded at Williams Automobiles in Bristol. The proprietor had just delivered the dramatic news that our Triumph Herald was a death trap - it was destined for the scrap yard. "Take a look at this one", he said, ushering Dad outside to where a grey Ford Cortina was parked tight against a wall. "It needs a new engine which is coming tomorrow, so I can't start it for you" he added.

In another strange decision for a man who had good knowledge and understanding of motor mechanicals, Dad decided to buy the Cortina despite being unable to start the engine, drive it or even look at the left-hand side! Nevertheless, before long the Cortina was our new family car, complete with reconditioned engine.

For once, fortune favoured the brave; both the new engine and the left-hand side of the car were fine. I can't explain why, but the Cortina is one of only two cars from my youth of which I can remember the registration number. The other was my own first car. The Cortina's was 999 RHU. I've often reflected that in the UK now, that number if available as a 'cherished plate' would be worth considerably more than the car. For the benefit of any non-Brits reading this, 999 is the Emergency Services telephone number in the UK, hence its potential value.
Life with the Cortina was relatively trouble-free. It had just three faults worthy of mention:
  1. It didn't like rain; it would simply stop working when it got wet, then mysteriously start again around 15 minutes later.
  2. If the driver's window was wound fully down, the glass would fall off the mechanism into the bottom of the door. Dad had to strip the door of its interior trim to retrieve it on more than one occasion.
  3. Rust; like all cars of the period, rust was an ever-present and apparently insoluble problem.

On one occasion, Faults #1 & 2 combined beautifully to create a 'perfect' day. Mum was about to drive to her Teacher Training college in Bristol on a particularly wet morning. "Don't worry" Dad told her. "If the car stops, just call me at work - I'll come and rescue you". We couldn't afford AA membership, so family and friends were our 'Rescue Service'. 

With those reassuring words ringing in her ears, Mum set off into a heavy storm. Predictably enough, as she drove along an exposed road, the Cortina's engine suddenly died, leaving her stranded on the roadside. As this was many years before the advent of mobile phones, she wound down the drivers door window to see if there was a public telephone box anywhere nearby. As she did so, forgetting in the anxiety of the moment about Dad's warning, "Remember not to wind the window fully down", there was a clanging sound as the window glass hopped off the winder mechanism and fell inside the door. The rain was blowing directly onto the drivers' door and now came inside, soaking everything including Mum.

She sat for a while wondering helplessly what to do, when a car driven by a total stranger pulled up behind the Cortina. The driver (a man) hopped out and came to ask if Mum needed help. She told him what was wrong and he immediately offered to drive her to a public telephone box so she could call for help. "Thank you, but I don't have any money" Mum told him. Remarkably, he said, "Never mind, I have some" and very kindly drove her off in his car to find a telephone box, where Mum called Dad at work and explained the situation.

Fortunately Dad's office was relatively close by, so by the time Mum's White Knight took her back to the stranded Cortina, Dad was already there, retrieving the window glass from deep inside the door. By the time he had managed that, the engine had dried itself out and started easily, allowing Mum to continue her journey to college, a little damp and stressed but still in one piece.
​
My only other clear memory of the Cortina involves Fault #3; rust. The keen-eyed among you may have noticed rust bubbling near the offside front headlamp of the Cortina in the "Family Day out" photo above. Slowly but surely, the rust ate away the thin, untreated steel from the inside until there was a ring of rust clearly visible just behind the headlamp. 

As luck would have it, some genius had recently invented fibreglass, a strange substance that could be moulded to any shape, then set hard. Dad and I decided to 'repair' the rusty Cortina, paint it up nicely, then sell it quickly before the rust returned, as it surely would.

Many, many hours of physical labour ensued. We cut away the rusted metal and inserted a cage structure roughly fashioned out of chicken wire (yes, really). Then, we applied layer after layer of fiberglass and waited for it to cure. As expected, it set hard as rock and was extremely difficult to sand smooth. We didn't have electric sanders in those days, so we worked by hand with various grades of emery paper and sandpaper, toiling until the surface was smooth and our hands were raw.

Next, we painted the area, first with primer and then with multiple layers of the correct shade of grey paint. Finally, we stood back and to be honest, it didn't look at all bad. We congratulated ourselves and felt we would be able to sell the car before the problem became too obvious again.

The very next day, an old friend and colleague of Dad's came to visit. His name was Jim Wright; Jim was a tall man I remember always having a pipe in his mouth. He was chatting to Dad outside our house, walking around the Cortina as I watched and listened. Without warning and a little strangely, he abruptly reached out and put his hand directly onto the area we had just bodged up, leaning his full and considerable weight onto the fibreglass repair. To his surprise and our horror, there was a cracking sound and the entire repair came away from the rest of the front wing and hung there by a few strands. Our work was ruined. 

Poor Jim was mightily embarrassed but of course Dad never blamed him. I don't recall what Dad eventually did about that rusty front wing, but before long, the Cortina was gone from our lives, to be replaced but never forgotten.

Previously ...

  • My Dad's Cars Part 1 - Standard Vanguard
  • My Dad's Cars Part 2 - Triumph Herald

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