I talked about the heap of crap that was my Marina, yet it was a strangely enduring car. Perhaps because it looked so awful with it’s brush painted body work, a dark blue, barely hiding the original 70s or 80s mustard yellow. I think it probably had striped cloth seats in browns and yellows, and the radio was so bad I used to wear my walkman most of the time, which even I now consider to be stupid.
You knew that if you pulled a bird in your Marina she was interested in you not your wallet! And likewise in the Morris 1000 that the Marina was eventually scrapped for. The engine was reconditioned and then went into the Morris along with a Sierra 5 speed box. That gave you a Moggy that was capable of doing over 90, and was also reasonable on fuel. Whole families would stare, and sometimes cheer when you were caning along the motorway. Good job they didn’t know how unsafe it was. Enthusiastic braking could have quickly ended it all, and probably taken out a few other cars at the same time. It was fun for a bit, but I actually missed the engine and exhaust noise of the car.
I was then always looking at used BMW 3 series for sale, but in actual fact next up came a van. Vincent. Awful thing! My first diesel. I put a stupidly powerful stereo into it, and terrified my poor dog who used to stand in the back and howl. Probably her attempt at drowning out Nick Cave, who was my artist of choice at the time. Him and the Chemical Brothers. Vincent was a 1986 Ford Escort van. Red. Off a mate of dad’s. It only served me for two years, but it was fun in its way. Hardly a babe magnet either.