Nearly two years ago, another banger joined the fleet at Blog Roll Towers. What’s more surprising is, nearly two years on, it’s still parked outside Blog Roll Towers (and no, it’s not because it won’t start, it’s not a Ford you know). This is fairly unusual in that most cars I buy tend to last the journey home and not much more than that, which can be a little disconcerting as I have bought cars from the road I live on before. Anyway, this lump of pig iron had to undertake a fairly lengthy drive back home because while I’m in Cornwall, it was located in Chatteris.

What is it?

Well, it’s a Skoda Fabia 1.4 MPi Classic Combi which is a mouthful so we call it Listerine. Well, you have seen the colour in the photos. Classic means it’s the bottom of the range, should have tried harder at school specification which has such niceties as independent locking, manual windows, a plethora of switch blanks and a steering wheel. It also has the old Skoda overhead valve engine that dates back to when God was a lad. Combi is Skoda talk for estate car, which translates into a thoroughly useful car.

Don’t tell me somebody bought that new!

What’s baffling about this particular car is that someone specially ordered it. They ordered an estate with the least powerful, most archaic engine available in a colour that no one else ever specified with an equipment list that the Tory austerity cuts look generous. Yet it was ordered with a CD player player player player (a tape deck was standard equipment) and air conditioning! I really don’t get that, as the resale value of this model, trim, engine and colour spec would have been pretty poor compared with other models in the Fabia range. But judging by the service history on this car, resale values were of no interest to this owner because they kept it for about 15 years, was garaged and had it serviced and maintained at a Skoda dealer for all those years.

So, what’s it like to drive?

Well, fairly uneventful to be honest. The steering is light, the handling is safe but not particularly involving, the brakes are pretty good but the gear change is on the obstructive side. Which is just a plain nuisance sometimes as it’s under powered and gets easily confused by hills. As mentioned earlier, it’s fitted with the old Skoda pushrod overhead valve engine. Whereas it was a 1.3 litre engine in the Favorit and Felicia, for the Fabia it was modified and bored out to 1.4 litres, producing a nausea inducing 67bhp. I have no idea what the top speed is, and as far as acceleration goes, I started a 0-62mph standing start back in December 2020 and I haven’t got there yet. However, once you get up to speed, it’ll happily sit there all day (providing there’s no hills) with very little fuss though the engine does get rather rough the further you get up the rev range, but the rest of the time it’s not too bad. But then again, being a rip-snorting bahnstormer was never at the top of Skoda’s priorities when designing and developing the Fabia.

What’s it like to live with?

What was on the top of Skoda’s priorities was providing practical and functional motoring, and when you look at the Fabia in its original context, it’s hard to beat. Especially in estate form, because it provides a decent amount of interior space in what is essentially still a supermini, but with the added bonus of that extra boot space. Certainly one of the most useful cars I’ve owned. It will swallow up our shopping with consummate ease, it will take our vast amounts of luggage that my wife deems necessary for a holiday and we can fit our tent and camping gear in the back. Even better than that is the rear seats are not only 60/40 split folding affairs, they can be completely removed. The front passenger seat folds flat so it becomes a van if required. For a small car, it’s also reasonably comfortable and whilst you couldn’t call the interior pretty or even remotely stylish, it’s functional and fairly robust. This little Skoda can take on anything that people claim they buy an (usually two wheel drive) SUV for. Bollocks, you don’t need an SUV, a Fabia is all the car you’ll ever need. Oh, no, wait, that was another car wasn’t it…

Is it green?

Yes. Fantasy Green, in fact. Which is the same green Jeremy Clarkson used to paint the “Police” Fiat Coupe and the Alfa 75 in the Top Gear challenges.

Has it been reliable?

As it happens, yes it has. We’ve done 14k miles in it so far (a bit far off the 40k target we’ve set ourselves).
Stuff that’s needed attention (all wear and tear and consumable stuff)
– Brake hoses, rear cylinders and shoes
– Front discs and pads
– Anti roll bar drop link
– Tyres
Stuff that’s gone wrong:
– Temperature sensor (complete with thermostat housing): they all do that, Sir. Knew about this when I bought it so it was done pretty quickly.
– Coil pack

In recent weeks, the Fabia has had its second MoT in my ownership. Bearing in mind cars I have usually don’t normally make a second MoT in my ownership, I was delighted it went through with just a few trivial advisories which will be sorted soon. The other thing that needs attention is the timing chain which, as all these OHV Skoda engines do, is rattling like a bastard. My old Felicia rattled like this. The kits aren’t expensive and it’s not too bad a job, apparently. Well, it won’t be for me, I’ll be paying someone to do it!

Is it staying?

Until it gives up the ghost completely. It’s got life left in it yet, and I’m actually quite fond of the old thing because it’s a bloody good little car. Just don’t expect to go anywhere quickly. And yes, it does SAY THAT on the back of the car…

Buying old shite (the term Bangernomics is the same thing and was coined by a well known motoring journalist) is a hobby to some, a way of life to others and for some people, a necessity. I pretty much fall into all three camps and have owned all manner of different old bangers over the last Lord alone knows how long. Some have been great, some have been absolutely bloody appalling, but I’ve wracked my brain and I think I’ve come up with the ideal candidate. It fulfils the brief in two ways: buy it and run it until it breaks, scrap and repeat or it’s something you can buy, keep roadworthy for a good few years without having to spend massive amounts of money doing so. It’s also simple enough to work on that most jobs can be done at hoem if you can use a socket set.

It’s the R3 type Rover 200 and later 25. A car that pretty much lived in the shadow of its predecessor – the R8 200. The R8 was a serious engineering exercise that was good to drive, practical, stylish and felt a cut above its rivals. However, these are rising in values now as they transcend from banger to strictly for enthusiasts status and are a bit too nice to simply buy as a workhorse. But that is where the R3 steps in.

When new, the R3 200 had to put up with not being quite as big as the R8 and as a result, a bit more claustrophobic inside. It had to put up with Rover’s hopeless marketing team projecting it into the class above. It was fairly expensive when new compared with the opposition, and a bit of wood and leather didn’t fool people into buying premium. Which is a shame, because premium cars are all the rage these days thanks to the car badge class system. In 1999, though, Rover decided they were wrong. They face-lifted the 200 which brought in a new front end similar to the 75 and other minor aesthetic refinements. There were also technical upgrades including suspension and steering. More importantly, though, the whole range had been realigned and repriced to compete with Fiestas rather than Focuses. The 200 became the 25 and was a better car.

All R3s were powered by the and the rough and ready but tough L Series diesel engine, and the – at the time – acclaimed K Series engine in 1.1 8 valve form right up to the 1.8 16 valve with variable valve timing. But we all know the stories of that engine, don’t we? If not, them I’m sure some smart arse will be here shortly to question how many MPG (miles per gasket) one has achieved from one’s K Series powered machine. But fear not, I’m not about to recycle All The Internet and go down that route.

Instead, I’m here to extol the virtues of the R3 because none of the above matters now that the car is far from being new and is worth about about the same as a pint of beer. As an aside, a good mate of mine bought a Rover 45 for the princely sum of £3.19, MoT’d it and put it into daily service. I’ve driven it and it’s a bloody good little car. I’ve owned three versions of the R3 – two Rover 25s and an MG ZR. I’ll concentrate on the Rover versions because the MGs are starting to rise in value.

The R3’s party piece really is there isn’t an awful lot to go wrong on them, and what’s left is usually easily fixable. There’s no CAN networks or body computers to upset proceedings and render the whole car scrap if one of those related components happens to fail. The L-Series diesel is a sturdy old Hector, too. It may sound a bit Massey Ferguson, but it’s a strong engine and will rack up the miles with very little in the way of problems. There’s a reasonable parts supply with service items available from most local motor factors, and a handful of MG and Rover parts specialists online for everything else – or even genuine service parts if that’s what you require. Additionally, there are a few companies that specialise in K Series repairs and at least one of them is mobile. So if worse case scenario happens with the cooling system, it can be put right by a specialist for not a massive amount of coin, providing years of motoring ahead. Aside from the K Series, the other main bugbear is rust – they do like to corrode a little. Pre-Project Drive examples are the best to go for (manufactured between 1999 and 2002) as the rustproofing worked then better than the final few years. The front wings can go at the leading edge, they can get a little tatty around the wheel arches, around the boot lock, sills and floor. The earliest incarnation of the R3 – the 200 – are dwindling in numbers thanks to the newest example being 21 years old. However, it’s not necessarily difficult to find a good 25 there still seems to be quite a number of those still on the road. Largely to do with Rover’s demographic audience being older and retired folk who actually looked after and maintained stuff and the refreshing lack of being equipped to the maximum with needless electrical twattery, allowing more time to consider the exquisite engineering.

Perhaps the only thing to throw up any real drama is the CVT gearbox, known affectionately by some (at least three people) as BoingDrive. The example photographed here was a 25 iXL BoingDrive that was purchased for £300 and did 12,000 miles in the 12 months we had it. The drive plate sounded like a group of skeletons having an orgy in a tin and the starter solenoid wire needed repairing. And aside from a small patch of welding on the sill and a clean up of the rear caliper, it cost next to nothing in maintenance costs. I never serviced it or did any preventative maintenance, it just never let us down. Until one fateful day where the new custodian drove it 10 miles and the gearbox was beyond needing some fine adjustments. It was later scrapped. Avoid the CVT and buy an example with the manual gearbox because the PG1 gearbox is tough, and the last year or so of production the 25 was equipped with a Ford Focus gearbox so there was at least a decent gear change.

But what else do you get? Well, they’re a decent steer for a start regardless of what version you go for. The steering has good feedback, the handling and ride are good, and depending on which engine you go for, have a reasonable turn of speed, too. The L Series diesel can be turned up for OMGBOOSTZ and everything. There’s a reasonable amount of room inside, and we managed with an R3 as a main family vehicle from when my son was a toddler up until last year. You’ll also get to experience Rover’s batshit crazy equipment levels and options. Indeed it was possible to have wood, a full leather and air conditioning, yet still have keep fit windows. My pick of the bunch would be the 1.6 petrol as it’s a decent all-rounder, and if you find one that’s already had the work done to the h*** g*****, it will provide you with a good few years of reliable service. Just keep an eye on the rust, avoid the CVT and check the sunroof doesn’t leak.

If you look back through this blog, you’ll find the low down on my first Rover R3 ownership experience. If you can’t be bothered to find it, I’ll waste your time a little right here. Our daily driver was driven into by a moron in a Laguna in a shopping car park. The insurance company wrote it off and collected it two days before we were due to go away on a family holiday. A hire car was going to cost north of £380, but at the end of the our road my wife spotted a Rover 25 for sale for £475. She phoned up the seller, haggled a bit as it needed a tyre, got it down to £430. We then went and bought it, raced down to the post office to tax it and then on to the local tyre fitters. This was Wednesday afternoon into the evening, and we were going away early Thursday morning. The general attitude was use it and abuse it on holiday and if it breaks, bin it. If we didn’t get on with it, bin it off and get something else.

We kept it. For another 18 months where it clocked up 18,000 reliable miles. I never thought much of Rovers before this car, now I’m a big fan. I replaced it with an MG ZR TD+ but actually preferred the Rover. I fancy a Streetwise next…

It’s been a wee while since I’ve written anything in here but it has been business as usual chopping and changing cars at an alarming rate. I still have the Rover 216, and that’s a car I’m never likely to sell. But I’ll come back to the other cars at a later stage. The object of this post is to write about what has (twin) sparked my blog writing back into life.

I’ve been an Italian car licker for longer than I care to remember – actually thirty years ago this year. My Dad had a long line of brilliant Italian cars which started off with an Uno 70S and a Tipo DGT. My first car was an Uno 45S, and between me and my wife we’ve owned 13 Italian cars up until the car featured here. So far, though, they’ve all been Fiats. What has alluded me so far is an Alfa Romeo. Just saying the name evokes the usual journalistic clichés of passion, soul and spaghetti. It’s a brand that has resonated with me since I was a small boy – one of my first toy cars was an Alfasud Sprint. Alfa have had their fair share of ups and downs (I am going out of my way to not mention the R word that crops up in just about every piece ever written about Alfa, Fiat or Lancia) and have launched a few stinkers over the years. But my God have they launched some utterly beautiful machines, too. The sound of a deliciously smooth yet racy Busso V6 or the celebrated raspy twin cam is enough to send me all gooey eyed and weak at the knees. Similarly, if I see an Alfetta GTV, a 105 series GTV, Alfasud Sprint or an old Duetto I instantly need some time to myself.

I worked in aftersales at an Alfa and Fiat dealer for best part of 10 years so have seen how bad they could be. However, I’ve also seen how bloody brilliant they can be, too. So, why haven’t I owned one, yet? Mainly because I subscribe to the kind of motoring dubbed as Bangernomics. So my idea of a Bangernomics friendly Italian car automatically defaults to Punto, of which I’ve had four. A V6 Alfa or Twin Spark is likely to need a bit more love and money than someone on a Bangernomics budget can throw at it. But does that mean it rules out Alfa ownership altogether?

No, not at all. Cars such as the 147 and 156 are at such a low ebb pricing wise that they’re pretty much disposable motoring, which in one sense is a good thing as they can picked up for next to nothing. But it’s a shame as 147s and 156s are such good cars, why on earth would you buy one to run it into the ground? To satisfy both sides of that coin, we’ve bought a 156 JTD for pocket money in terms of car prices. The purchase price satisfies our Bangernomics budget, yet it’s a car that deserves to be maintained and have some coin thrown at it.

A very good friend who we’ll call nameless and will remain Craig Cheetham contacted me to tell me he had “the ideal car”. I loved the idea, but Mrs Captain Misery said no and that was that. The car in question was a Fiat Multipla 105 JTD ELX and I loved the idea of owning it – the perfect family vehicle and would satisfy Mrs Captain Misery’s mourning for her dear departed Vauxhall Meriva. But it was a resounding NO. A few weeks passed and Craig contacts me again with “I’ve got the perfect car for you” and Mrs Captain Misery said yes and that was that. A few weeks later we had an Alfa 156 JTD on the driveway.

The 156 has been around since 1997 and changed Alfa’s fortunes for the better overnight. Sadly, it changed Alfa’s fortunes for the worse overnight, too. I’ll gloss over the minuses to wax lyrical about the 156 for a moment if I may. It remains the best looking saloon car of the last twenty five years. I still maintain that no saloon car since has looked so right and so damned pretty. Even the facelift didn’t ruin the looks. Then there’s the interior, and yes if you were Autocar you could complain about plastics used on some of it, but come on, how often do you stroke the dashboard when you’re driving? It still looks utterly fabulous from the cowled dials housing the rev counter and speedo, to the dials in the centre console, all angled toward the driver. It’s very driver focused and a lovely place to sit. It’s also easy to find a comfortable driving position and the seats are great.

I could go on for hours about the exterior styling. I have done before and some people have died of boredom as I spoke. So I’ll just leave it at the exterior is a work of art. Even this one, which is a bit of a ten yard car if I’m honest, still looks good. Being a sixteen year old 156 means there’s literally many shades of red and there’s the odd bit of lacquer peel here and there. But to be honest, the exterior and interior wear the 181,000 miles pretty well.

Then there’s the way these things drive. The front wheel drive chassis has always handled well, with the most balanced sweet spot of the range being the 2.0 Twin Spark. The V6 is still a gem and to be honest, the diesels are hardly horrible to drive, in fact quite the contary. Ours is the low powered 8 valve 120bhp 1.9 turbo diesel, so it’s basically the same engine as fitted to Bravos, Stilos, Doblo vans, Multiplas and Vauxhall Vectras. Even so, whilst not being the fastest thing on four wheels and sometimes it lags more than George W. Bush’s brain, keep the turbo spooling and the performance is more than acceptable and it can upset quite a few [insert German generic saloon here]. You still get the pin sharp turn in and the delightfully weighted and communicative steering. The downside is the ride is a bit crashy over British road surfaces (what have the Romans ever done for us?) and the turning circle is worse than the Starship Enterprise.

Now, being a sixteen year old Alfa with (at the time of purchase) 177,000 miles on it, there were a few issues which I was informed about prior to buying it. I spent a good day on the paintwork polishing and waxing it getting it back to only 37 shades of red and bringing a bit of the shine back. The heater motor had packed up, which is a common fault and an easy fix on a 156. A replacement second hand heater motor from eBay for less than 20 quid was obtained and fitted. The surprise came when I switched the climate control on and found there to be ice-cold air through the vents – the air conditioning worked!

The battery was past its best, so a new battery was fitted, though this proved a bit of a worry as the alarm fob button on the key doesn’t work. Armed with a memory saver – a device which plugs into the EOBD port and connects to a car battery thus allowing you to keep radio codes and ECU settings etc – the battery was replaced. Upon replacing the battery I noticed the turbo hose was split, so a new one was sourced for £15. There was also an intermittent cold start problem and the glow plug warning light keept flashing. A new set of glow plugs were fitted by a very good local garage and solved that problem. However, an intermittant hot start problem developed. The most obvious culprit was the crankshaft position sensor, so a new one was sourced and eventually fitted and so far, so good. A cracked windscreen and a set of wiper blades were also sorted. In the new year, I’ll treat the 156 to a service.

As the mileometer is close to ticking over to 181,000 miles, we’ve put 3000 miles on it since purchasing it just over three months ago. None of the running repairs have cost much to put right, either. It’s great to drive, stunning to behold (if you ignore the paint fade), lovely to be in and bloody hell is it economical. Oh, and it has also had its 15 minutes of fame, too, being a feature car in Retro Cars magazine.

The best thing? It’s one of those cars that both Mrs Captain Misery and me look back at and smile when we walk away from it. And, at long last we have an Alfa on the driveway. Italian car number 14 is here to stay, we hope. For an imperfect car bought on a Bangernomics budget, it’s one that feels a bit special and you can’t buy that.

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Phillip Joyce Automotive

I’ve often made a point of how much I don’t see how car design as a whole has moved forward since, say, 1988. Sure, what’s produced today is much safer to crash into Euro N-cap rating cutouts and is much friendlier to Spiderman should he web sling in front of your Hyundai. There’s a lot more safety gear built in to protect you more should the worst happen. However, this has almost been undone by people who drive like complete idiots because they think they’re invincible and multimedia systems that may inadvertently play Coldplay. I’m really not a fan of the gadgets that weigh cars down. Do we really need all that crap, I don’t recall being asked? All that weight being pulled around by “super efficient” engines that in the real world don’t provide any more efficiency than a family hatchback from 1990, and more than likely won’t last half as long.

Which neatly brings me on to this 1990 Renault 19, one of the three best mid sized hatchbacks of the late 1980s. I was offered the opportunity to drive a 1.4 TSE belonging to a good friend, so naturally I had to take up the offer. Only problem being the 380 odd miles between us, so a meet up that coincided with a visit with family my wife has in the North East was scheduled.

The first thing the struck me was how small it is compared with the new bloated tat that was parked all around it, yet how crisp and clean the design still is, considering this design is thirty years old. Once you step inside it’s a roomy old bus with very typically French seats. There’s a decent driving position, with pedals and a steering wheel that feel like they were fitted where they should be unlike *some other French Motor Manufacturers*.

One thing this does have that is also better than cars from *some other French Motor Manufacturers* is a bloody nice gear change and clutch action. Brakes have a nice progressive feel, too. Steering is unassisted but to be fair you don’t notice on the move and it’s weighted nicely. Parking speeds aren’t too much of a worry either.

The quality of the interior feels reasonable for the time and also looks a little more sober than some of Renault’s other 1980s offerings. It’s certainly no worse than a Golf or Astra of the time for fit and finish, better than the Tipo and leagues ahead of the Escort (both Mk4 and Mk5), though perhaps not quite up to Rover R8 200. It’s all very logically laid out and everything falls to hand easily. It’s a bit clip on headroom for me, as is the Rover R8, and doesn’t give the impression of space quite as well as a Tipo. As mentioned previously, the seats are typically French and very comfortable. Coupled with a typically French ride quality, this is a comfortable car to drive. It also doesn’t roll as much as I’d expected, but it managed the terrible roads in Billngham with consummate ease. All the bumps were soaked up in a way that is utterly alien if you’ve driven a modern Renault with 300 inch RIMZ and handling by Nurburgring.

Up front is the trusty single overhead cam engine 1390cc Renault E (Energy) engine which was new for Renault in 1988 and made its first appearance in the 19. Fitted with a carburettor, it develops 79bhp which is more than adequate to pull the 19 around. It’s lively and revs freely. Perhaps not quite as rev happy as a Tipo, but not much is as rev happy as a Lampredi motor. It makes fine progress and doesn’t cause much of a fuss doing so.

My time with this car was far too short but then a month with this car would have been far too short. It’s also interesting comparing this with the other two best mid sized hatchbacks of the late 80s, the Fiat Tipo and Rover 200. I’ve driven many Tipos, owned a Tipo Action and a Tempra and now, unless you’re blind, you’ll have seen I own a Rover 200. To summarise, the Tipo is the most enjoyable to drive and the best to look at, the Renault is the most comfortable and rides the best and the Rover has the nicest interior by far and has a fabulous sense of occasion driving it. They all do the job of mid sized family hack so much better than an Escort, Golf, Astra or 309. In fact it take Citroen until 1991 to launch a credible rival – the ZX.

But out of the 19, Tipo and 200, which do you buy? There’s never been an easier question to answer – buy a 1.4 version (1.4 Energy in the case of the 19, don’t do the Cleon engine) of each of these cars and you will not be disappointed. Buy one of each whilst you can still get a good one for peanuts. They’re simple enough to fix if a problem arises, reliable enough to use every day and each one will put a smile on your face.

Driving this car, driving my own Rover, the loan of the Mk1 Punto over Christmas and looking at the collective car collections of friends proves one thing to me – the late eighties to mid nineties car is when car design peaked and it’s not been improved on since. Cars were crisply styled, practical and fun to drive, simpler to fix if they go wrong and nowadays cost less to buy than one monthly payment on a *GENERIC GERMAN “PRESTIGE” DIESEL SALOON*. Just don’t crash one…

Special thanks to Dicky Braithwaite for not dobbing me in to the Fuzz for the taking of his French car. I have since walked home and thought about what I’ve done.

I needed something reliable to use every day. Something with a bit of comfort, something with enough space that if it were used on a family outing we could actually put things in it, unlike the Ford Ka that at this point I was running. At least when it started. Which wasn’t that often, if I’m honest.

The Ford was meant as a stop gap car as there were arrangements for another car to join us alongside the Datsun. That fell through and the Datsun was without wipers and headlights, which in Cornwall is a problem as most of the time it’s dark and wet. So we were still using the borrowed Punto and the Ka was still on daily duties. However, with the Ka’s MoT due very soon and no respectable way of getting it to pass, I needed to throw it in the skip and get a new set of wheels.

This is where my mate Andrew who had been lending us the Punto comes in. He’d just purchased a car that would suit me down to the ground. It’s a little older than what I have been driving, but chances are it would start when required. So, he sent me a million and six pictures and before checking with Domestic Management I said yes to a 1992 Rover 216 GSi without actually seeing it in person. Then again, I trusted the git who was selling it.

The Rover arrived on January 14th, delivered by Andrew. So I had a cursory look around the car, thought it looked great so we went in for tea and cake. Many paperworks were signed, he handed me the keys and history file and I handed him the keys to the Ford as the mad bastard had agreed to take it back in part exchange and drive the sodding thing back home. Never have I felt so guilty handing over a set of keys in my life. No wonder he went to the pub as soon as he got home! Still, the comfort of knowing that the Ka would be scrapped very soon made quite a few people very satisfied.

Captain Mildly Luxurious

A first good look around the Rover and something became blindingly obvious. This car isn’t a bundle of misery like I’m used to. In fact, it’s midly luxurious. It has wood inserts on the dashboard and door panels and fabulous velour seats. Being the GSi spec, it also has windows, mirrors, locking and a sunroof all powered by electrical wizardry. There’s a remote boot and fuel filler release and a set of rear headrests. Why am I in a car like this? I like it. I like it a lot.

But what about oily bits? As it’s the 1.6, it comes with the Patented Obligatory Sell The Roewe on eBay catchphrase – the “BULLIT PRUF HONDA INJUN M9”. Single overhead camshaft, 16 valves developing some brake horsepower and somewhere there’s some torque. It’s coupled to a four speed automatic gearbox, and whilst it’s a lovely engine, and for the most part the gearchange from the autobox is smooth, floor it and it lets you know with a bit of a thud. The power steering has plenty of feel and it’s easy to drive, but it turns in really rather well. The brakes are no worse but no better than the 25 I had, but the ride comfort is much more settled than the MG ZR I had. Then again, Zebedee on a pogo stick was more settled than the ride in the MG. There will be things that I need to have rectified, for example the CV joints are occasionally noisy, the boots are perishing and it could do with a bit of a waxoyl underneath. There’s really not much more than that, which is excellent for a twenty six year old car.

Raving queen…

Reading through the history of the Rover, it turns out it has a bit of a royal history. According to the service and warranty booklet as filled in by the dealer, its first owner was Sir General Simon Cooper of Buckingham Palace. Supplying dealer stickers and number plates are also still fitted. It’s also lovely hearing stories such as the previous owner’s refusal to let any other cars in the garage, brand new purchases included, whilst the Rover was still in her possesion. This car has been loved, and it still is. Sadly, it’s no longer garaged as there’s something else in there, but it’s looked after, washed and waxed regularly and most importantly of all, enjoyed.

That really is the key. Every single time I get in it I get a buzz of excitement I’ve not had from a car since I had my Peugeot 205. I’d had excitement in other cars but that was generally a raise in blood pressure when the bastard wouldn’t start. Or stop. The 205 I rated as being one of the favourite cars I’ve owned. I regreted selling it, even moreso now I’ve learnt it has been scrapped. I think this Rover has taken that place, now. I look back at it whenever I park it up and smile or grin. I look forward to driving it and it’s such a nice place to be.

The thing is, I had no idea whether I’d like it, despite always wanting an R8. Would it be one of those decisions that should have just stayed as a thought in my head? Like that time I broke into my neighbour’s shed dressed in a gimp suit. It was just a misunderstanding. The last car I really wanted was a Mk2 VW Golf and that turned out to be a huge disappointment and worse still an utter bastard of a car. I need not worried, this is in a different league altogether. It’s National Drive It Day this coming Sunday, but I drive it every single day and I’ve never had such positive reactions to a car in my life. People I don’t know have come up to me and complimented the car. My Dad for instance said it’s almost too nice to use, and to some extent I see his point. I think it’s too nice to have it sitting around dormant, I’d far rather be out driving and enjoying it.

Here’s the difference between my old Peugeot and this Rover. Yesterday, someone left a note under the left hand front wiper wondering if I’ll sell. Well, the answer is no I’m not selling it. At all.

So with a broken Datsun and a rusty, hateful pile of bastard Ford, what would you do? To us, it was obvious. Drive a couple of hundred miles from Cornwall to Southampton on a cold early December day and borrow a mate’s 19 year old Mk1 Punto to use as a daily driver. I’ve driven hundreds of Puntos of all ages throughout the years, and they remain one of my favourite small cars. So getting the chance to borrow a Mk1 was met with quite a lot of excitement.

This year is the twenty fifth anniversary of the Punto, and it still looks fresh. Compared to the modern, bloated nonsense that clogs up the roads these days, it’s crisp, well proportioned and looks just right. Packaging, too, remains a marvel. I compared this one with the inlaw’s Grande Punto, it may be smaller on the outside, but I’m hard pushed to see where the extra room is on the newer model. Leg, head and arm room is excellent, the room in the back is ample and boot space is about the same on the latest Puntos.

I’m also much more an early Punto fan when it comes to the inside. The dashboard layout had stood the test of time very well, the dials are clear and the switches are well placed. This particular model is the 60SX so is equipped with such decadent niceties as windows powered by electricity, locking powered by witch craft, radio cassette with auto reverse, remote boot release and colour coded bumpers. There’s no power steering, electrical driving aids or extra safety equipment so, God forbid in this day and age, you actually have to drive the car. This is an event and is so refreshing after driving cars with over assisted everything. When did we become so lazy and reliant on the car doing most of the work for you?

As far as driving goes, Puntos of all generations are a pretty decent steer. As it had been eight or so years since I drove a Mk1 last, I’d forgotten how enjoyable they are. The 1242cc may only deliver a whisker under 60bhp, but that really doesn’t matter. Because the body weighs the same as a box of tissues and the engine is more flexible than a Jane Fonda workout routine, this is not an issue. The little FIRE unit punches well above its weight. Steering is well weighted, it’s hilariously chuckable, the handling is neat and safe and the brakes stop you when they should. But that engine is a gem.

I do have a couple of negatives, though. Firstly, the headlights are abysmal, which is a bit of a Punto trait, and Stevie Wonder’s eyes would be much more effective in the dark. Secondly, the screen washer pump failed and the reservoir wasn’t in the best of shape. Finally, it wasn’t mine to keep. Much as I wanted to purchase it from the owner, he was more keen to let me borrow it for a few months as he didn’t want to sell it. I can hardly blame him for that.

Never once did it fail to start, proceed, break down or indeed have anything fall off. For a 19 year old car doing over 200 miles a week, I’d say that’s brilliant. In fact, screen washer pump aside, nowt went wrong and it’s comforting to know that when we returned it, it flew straight through its MoT test the following week. Both my wife and me thoroughly enjoyed having this car for a few months, my son was sad to see it go back and if it ever came up for sale, I’d be at the front of the queue. This Punto got under our skin a bit.

So, since the last blog post, the MG decided to break down almost weekly. Culminating in the drive shaft popping out at random intervals because the garage I used to use changed their staff and changed them for incompetent assholes. A few other issues and the fact I fell out of love with the damned thing, I ended up selling it. Presumably the next owner got fed up with it as well as it is no longer shows up on DVLA’s website.

So, I was looking for a replacement and happened upon a little white Skoda on Facebook. Someone had posted one of those really irritating, lazy bastard “WOT CARS U GOT 4 50P MUZT HAVE EMOTY N TACKS” threads and someone replied with the Skoda up for £300. I instantly sent the Skoda owner a PM, and within the hour was looking at it. The temperature gauge wasn’t working and the offside front door handle was calapst. Chancing that it was either a thermostat or a temp sender, I handed over 250 notes and was now the proud* owner of a Felicia.

So, I got it home and assessed what it needed. Turns out the brake lights didn’t work, so a brake light switch was sourced from my local motor factors for a fiver. A replacement door handle was sourced from eBay for less than a tenner, and a replacement thermostat housing, which included a new temperature sender, was sourced from Euro Car Parts for 20 quids worth of pounds. All fitted and solved the niggles. New wiper blades and a set of new old stock Skoda wheel trims tidied it up, and these were the only purchases I had to make over the next eight months.

Basic

The Felicias were never exactly bothered with standard equipment, the Felicia was a no-nonsense, no-frills car and that all adds up to the charm. Five doors, seats and an internal boot release were about all that was standard, however power steering was a welcome luxury. But with only a 1289cc OHV engine up front, it was hardly burdened with weight.

What it had instead was interesting and entertaining handling, a practical interior, solid build and an eager little engine of pre-historic design. Swiped from the Favorit, which in turn swiped it from the Estelle which in turn can trace its roots back to the Renault Dauphine, it provided nippy performance and an entertaining, if somewhat noisy, soundtrack. I love the sound of old pushrod engines. Well some, anyway, but that’s for another day.

Being based on the older Favorit, the Felicia’s a boxy old hector. This meant the interior was fabulously practical, with genuine seating for three in the back, decent headroom and excellent boot space. The fact the rear seats could be taken out completely gave a fantastic flat load space. With the front passenger seat folded flat, I managed to transport a king size mattress with ease.

I really enjoyed driving it. True, the steering sometimes had as little communication as a seasoned husband and wife, but it was adequate. The gearchange was pretty decent, the brakes had a good feel and the ride was far smoother than a car of this ilk had any right to.

Rugged

It provided eight months faultless motoring. Never failed to start, never left me stranded at the side of the road and was perfect right up until the final couple of journies. The gearbox became a little noisy and difficult to engage. It started rattling and eventually let go just around the corner from my house. Managed to nurse it home and there it waited with a wounded gearbox and lots of oil underneath until the scrap man turned up for it armed with 60 quid.

Would I have another? Absolutely. I loved it. I always liked the Felicia’s styling, I enjoyed driving it, I liked its no-nonsense charm, ruggedness and practicality. It stood up to my six year old trying to destroy its interior. More than anything else, over eight months it cost me £310 (excluding petrol, tax and insurance), that included buying it. That’s the same as two monthly payments for some bland, modern tractor engined eco* box. Driving shite has its advantages and it’s much more fun.

I feel a tad guilty for scrapping it, but my patience for idiots buying cars is at an all time low. I miss the old thing