2 + 2 = Classic Car

“...Lorry, red lorry, red lorry, red lorry, red lorry, red...” Yes, when I was nearly three years old, I repeated this phrase for a whole 18 hours straight. I went to sleep saying it and woke up the next day, still babbling the phrase in constant repetition. Ok, so it was a lorry rather than a motor car, but at that age I don’t think I pondered the distinction. What was important was that it had four wheels, an engine and it was red (obviously the latter was of particular significance to me at the time). Although this period of early psychological dysfunction may disturb some of you, it was certainly an early indicator of the obsession taking hold and something I am no doubt wrong in feeling quite proud of. Can anyone else boast of suffering from some kind of car related breakdown of the physiological kind? I’m adamant some of you can. (Surely its no worse than having an imaginary friend...? Yes apparently I had one of those too...called Durn).

Car obsession has its place though and like any addiction, you may find yourself returning to it in times of stress. During my GCSE exams I was utterly obsessed with the Caterham Super Seven and I don’t just mean during this period in my life, I mean I was thinking about this car whilst undertaking the actual exam papers. The car represented escape and freedom and although it’s tempting to blame Colin Chapman for the state of my GSCE Maths grade, surely day dreaming about cars is an escape into our imagination when reality gets too boring. I really would love to have a go in a Caterham.

Surely the cars we choose to think about says a lot about who we are, or who we would like to be, at any particular moment. Recently I became obsessed with another Lotus, the classic Esprit.This obsession was structured ar

ound a number of real world considerations. It’s a fairly reliable classic and one I could drive to business meetings. It would also be a kind of statement about my lifestyle choices (read no kids thank goodness, so no need for back seats). Its also a classic piece of British engineering, with classic ‘pop up’ head lights. The very last factor is my wife’s concern. She loves pop up head lights and wonders why more cars don’t have them. We haven’t yet bought an Esprit, as my wife is very attached to her Ford Probe which also has pop up head lights. I am therefore stuck on how to promote the Lotus as a more attractive car? Who gives a damn for aerodynamics or fuel efficiency when an essentially mechanical gimmick is bestowed such weighty importance.

When we first purchased the Probe, I thought it had the design inadequacy of not being able to flash the head lights quickly, as you might do when letting someone out of a side road, or want to bestow permission to a pedestrian to cross in front of you. I thought you had to pop up the lights every time you needed to perform the motoring equivalent of Morse code, i.e. flashing your lights in a certain order to communicate with other road users. Most of us have become casually acquainted to some version of ‘flash code’. Personally I flash once to let a pedestrian cross the road and two flashes to let a car out of a side road. In all cases three flashes or more means hurry up and get out of my bloody way). It was taking me an inordinate amount of time to locate the column stalk light switch to operate the front beam, which was initially very distracting and dangerous. I did a whole week of nearly knocking people over as I fumbled for the head lights and like a twit, wondered why I was getting funny looks. I felt quite the dunce when I realised the Probe has front spot lights, visible at all times within the front bumper and operational without the need to pop up anything. These smaller lights could be flashed in the normal manner, with minimal fuss and at a moments notice. But I’m sure most of you already know this.

Next I would like to introduce you to an example of the Rover P6. It wasn’t my first car, but it was my first classic car obsession that wasn’t just a day dream. Ownership was a test of sanity, but that’s all in the next blog.

The Primera Years

The Primera years started with the end of the Morris Itals. It never actually stopped working, which with hindsight seems quite impressive after ten years active service. It had just got to the point when much newer cars suddenly became affordable, although the decision to get rid wasn’t entirely down to economics. Mum had been moaning for ages about how fed up she was with the effort it took to park the thing and to be fair you did need super human strength to manoeuvre it at low speeds. However the real kiss of death for our Ital was her experience behind the wheel of a brand new Saab 9000 Turbo, borrowed off my dads boss whilst he went on holiday. The Saab had been immediately requisitioned for the school run and dad wasn’t back in the drivers seat until the following Monday when he got to drive it back to work. Thanks goes to Neil from RBS Croydon, who was blissfully unaware his company car was used as a taxi service for one week back in 1994. Climbing back into the Ital after getting used to all that Swedish sophistication was a genuine shock for all concerned and it had mum and dad hurrying down to Wilson's in Epsom to marvel over what the world of motor car manufacturing had produced in the decade since their last major car purchase. It wasn’t long before a fine Nissan Primera was selected.

We thought it beautiful. A maroon, four door hatchback, two litre, 16 valve automatic had entered our lives. What a car and what a motoring revelation. These days a high degree of reliability is not just expected, it is assumed. Compared to the Morris Ital and its ancient engine technology the Primera seemed to be powered by something beyond mere internal combustion. Not until its immobiliser started playing up in 2002 did it once fail to start first time. It felt so futuristic to sit in too, the wonders of injection moulding gave the Primera a snug, textured interior in grey and black plastic, the dash integrating into the doors. We revelled in the warming fuzzy material of the seats which felt so luxurious compared to the Itals cold vinyl. Add to this the electric windows in the front, a tape player that actually worked and a heater that could defrost the car even when buried in a snow drift and we were smitten.

It was the family workhorse that ferried us all over the country for eight years and it did us proud. We never went abroad on holiday as my younger brother had terrible asthma as a child and needed to be within a short drive of an A&E. Mum also had claustrophobia, so planes were out of the question, plus we had sod all cash. So during our teenage years we mainly went camping and this brings me to the most amazing facet of the Primera. I challenge anyone to produce a car that in relation to its external dimensions, has more internal luggage space. It is quite extraordinary what you can fit in a Primera and we had no trouble fitting all kinds of camping equipment into its cavernous boot. If you don't believe me, buy one off eBay and see if you can’t fit everything you own into the back of one, especially with the back seats down. Mums Primera lasted until late 2002. We took H678 FBB back to Wilson's to trade her in for a newer Nissan due to the intermittent immobiliser fault. Mum was most put out when they would only offer £500 for her in part exchange and on asking why so little, they tried as tactfully as possible to suggest that with 196,000 miles on the clock, they considered it a reasonably high mileage vehicle. The visual assessment was equally as damning, revealing at least one dent in every panel, the cost of rectification they said, outweighed the value of the car.

When I met my wife years later, she also drove a Primera. A 1.6 litre manual in black, with Nissan alloy wheels and a big noisy exhaust. It was a Primera with a very different character to my family car and yet my wife and I loved it until the day we blew its head gasket coming off the M61. Being my wife's first car, she felt the need to personalise and 'upgrade' the interior, which of course meant adorning it with animal print seat covers and massive pink fluffy cushions, all of dubious taste. At the time we could only afford to run one car and 'Princess' (that was our black Primera, not my wife) was what we used for the daily commute. I was briefly the shipping manager of a commercial importer in Cheatham Hill, Manchester and I remember with a mixture of embarrassment and pride my first day. Arriving late I had to drive past the warehouse lads, who were outside having a smoke. Princess, with her pink cushions and zany cow print seats were in full view. It’s fair to say they laughed their socks off and as a result I was shown very little respect from them during my time there. I didn’t mind as it was a fabulous car to drive, the stubby gear stick with its short throw produced satisfying gear changes and it handled beautifully. It also accelerated off the line very swiftly, but only nought to thirty. Anything of greater speed took an age, which was perfect for my wife, who loved driving fast but who was a rubbish driver at the time. Princess ended her days banger racing. We found out that she lasted just the one corner, being shunted from behind and on losing control received a terminal crunch into the tire wall.

To the original Nissan Primera then, a quietly British built car introduced in 1990. Despite denting very easily, it was in my opinion, streets ahead of the competition in terms of price, reliability and practicality. Ford took another three years to launch their Mondeo and that was more expensive, far less fun to drive and had far less internal space. Writing this has made me want to get another Primera. Maybe I will. So what is next you may ask? Before I get started on some of the other cars in my life, my next couple of blog posts will be on the nature of the classic car obsession itself and some of the consequences involved in its pursuit.