The evolution of nostalgia
I SEEM to recall that in my column last month I made the throwaway comment that if the right X308 came along then I’d consider adding yet another Jaguar to my collection.
When I passed my driving test longer ago than I care to remember (well, it was 1995, actually) I ‘treated’ myself to the part-exchange banger that had been chopped in at my local garage.
For £300, I became the proud custodian of a 1977 Austin Allegro and laugh all you might, I loved that car. I was 17, and my orange Allegro gave me freedom, the chance to go where I wanted to go, see who I wanted to see and not be late for college when the buses were playing silly beggars.
I was chatting to a mate about my Allegro in the pub a couple of weeks ago. We’d popped out for a swift half (or a multiple thereof) and as we were free from the usual encumbrances of accompanying family, we were allowed to talk freely about cars.
Phil and I are both in our mid-40s and although we didn’t know each other 27 years ago, it’s clear that we had similar experiences of the 1990s. Evenings listening to Britpop tribute bands, strong memories of Euro ’96, a clear recollection of seeing the first Ford Mondeos on the road. Defining moments that teenage lads tend to lock in their heads and remember for evermore. It’s called nostalgia, it’s evolutionary, it’s a wonderful thing, and it’s why you need a small fortune to buy any 1990s hot hatchback these days.
But I digress. Over a pint of something warmer and cloudier than either of us would have entertained at the age of 18, we got to discussing our first cars. Phil had a 1981 VW Polo, which may sound like decadence compared to a 1977 Allegro, but it really wasn’t. At worst, the two cars were equals. The Polo had good build quality but terrible brakes and no power. The Allegro would go and stop quite well, but had British Leyland ‘quality’ written all over it.
44 YEARS OLD, THEN, AND I’M STILL DRIVING AN 18-YEAR-OLD CAR
Then we both realised something. From the pub beer garden, we could see my X350. At this point, I must add, the pub is our local and the X350 was parked where it always is – I’d not driven it to the watering hole where I was currently lubricating my vocal cords, you can just see it from out the back. And we realised that my old Jaguar is exactly the same age as my Allegro was when I first passed my test. 44 years old, then, and I’m still
