Looking back over the cars youʼve owned, you tend to remember the interesting ones and forget about the others. The Taylor household has usually included a worthy but underappreciated second car: shopping, kids to school, guests and luggage to the station, rubbish to the dump and, later, towing a horse trailer (but never a racing car). Cheap to buy always mattered more than style or performance. They were too rarely serviced or washed, and have faded from memory.
But Iʼve just unearthed a folder of old tax discs, MoT certificates, (occasional) servicing bills and, yes, accident reports. Iʼve spent a nostalgic half-hour remembering those beasts of burden: such as the Honda Civic I bought for £400. The bonnet release broke so I couldnʼt check the oil, but it was driven mercilessly for a year and then given away to a friendʼs 16-year-old son. He got the bonnet open, filled the almost empty sump, stripped out the trim, lowered the suspension, and won autotests with it. Heʼs now an engineer for an F1 team.
Then there was the well-worn Renault 5 that became my daughterʼs first car. She was driving future World Champion Jacques Villeneuve through Central London and he asked to take over. The poor little Renault found revs it never knew it had.
Our first second car was a Fiat 128. Two years old in 1973, it cost £400. It was already rusting nicely, but it never broke down. I smugly remembered to top up the oil before a trip to Cornwall, but arriving late at night in Penzance I found long streaks of oil down both sides of the car. Iʼd failed to replace the filler cap.
Then there was a Datsun 120Y loaned by its friendly manufacturer: white with grey plastic inside like a tumble dryer, and just as exciting. And a Chrysler Horizon (remember them?). They were promoted with the slogan ʻBuilt to win you overʼ but ours arrived with faulty ignition, a broken seatbelt and bits of trim falling off. After 37 miles, a lead fell off the coil and stranded us in rush-hour traffic.
Our MG Maestro was bright red and quite sprightly, but parking it overnight in wet weather produced an inch of water in the passenger footwell. Its life came to an end on the M4 one dark, wet night. A Cortina hit
