Your first car stories. Trials and tribulations.
Discussion
Let's hear your first car stories.
Peppa Pig..My fiery old friend......
My first car (1980?) was a 3 wheeled 850cc 39hp 'Reliant Robin' otherwise known in the UK as a Plastic Pig. They were rare cars even then, normally owned/used by a dour looking elderly couple with a yappy terrier in the back and the flat capped misery driver glaring at all and sundry who dared overtake his 30mph mobile roadblock.
This was a distinctly left field investment for a youngster and I sold my soul to satan and my beloved touring motorbike (Honda CX500) to a neanderthal from Kings Lynn to buy it because I hoped it would keep me (and 'if' as a spotty scruffy unkempt hormonal youth I was lucky enough to find one, a potential female 'friend') warm and cosy.
I even fitted a luxury Goodmans stereo radio/cassette player bought from my mums Kays catalogue on weekly instalments for those quiet secluded country lanes and dire recorded from Radio 1 or 'Top of the Pops' romantic music mix tapes. Why oh why did those cheap 20p cassettes from the market always jam and get mangled at the most inappropriate times? Sods law I suppose! Good job I carried a pencil for emergencies.
Like it's new teenage owner my plastic pig was inherently unstable, and the tiny single front wheel positively encouraged a dramatic 'Need for Speed' style action movie roll over on anything but the mildest corners or cambers.
You could drive three wheelers on a full motorcycle licence in the UK at that time, and being a woefully lazy typical teenager I hadn't passed my car driving test. I think I was about 17 or 18, so 42 years ago now!! My goodness how time flies.
As this glassfibre deathtrap had a proper engine and 4 speed gearbox under a flimsy bonnet I spent a lot of time with a well oily thumbed Haynes workshop manual, greasy hands, cheap Monkey metal spanners and skinned knuckles repairing, tinkering and learning. It was also (felt) quite nippy as having a wafer thin plastic body, no sound deadening and absolutely zero crash protection it was noisy and pretty light.
Unfortunately after several happy months conveying me around in comparative comfort it came to an abrupt charred and fiery sticky (melted) end.
So inevitably in rural Norfolk on a beautiful spring day, with me and my best mate Trevor in it speeding along at 35mph I overcooked the plastic pig in style one last time and rolled it on a right angle corner. The accident had absolutely none of the skill and aplomb of a world rally driving champion on a forest stage 'going off' at full tilt.
It was slow motion poetically surreal exploration of ineptitude coupled with the futility of life as ours flashed before us, and a painful journey through the dense foliage and roadside furniture by an inexperienced idiot and his faithful sidekick seeking salvation.
We tipped sedately upside down, diving pointy pig end first through a Beech hedge and rotten wooden fence before landing upside down in front of a picture postcard chocolate box country cottage on the drive.
A nice elderly man was sat quietly nearby with his parked BMW motorcycle, Thermos of gently steaming tea and easel painting the beautiful idyllic cottage view in watercolours, and we rolled past like a couple of halfwit drunken revellers on new years eve city centre binge spoiling the ambience and peaceful artistic atmosphere completely.
We clambered out of the now very squashed upside down pig with dented F1 Grand Prix egos and a few very minor cuts and bruises. A short circuit in the crumpled remains then quickly started a fire near the mortally wounded 12v battery. I attempted to douse it with my full fat Coke can contents, the still bewildered artists brush water and his tea but to no avail. Meltdown ensued and within 5 minutes it had been reduced by a carcinogenic plastic black fume filled volcanic inferno into a pile of toxic ashes that was going to need Hazmat suits and breathing apparatus to deal with.
The local Police turned up, checked my documents and cheapo third party only insurance, looked mildly amused and told me to get the still twitching and smouldering corpse of the cremated pig shifted asap.
So as you did back then I rang my free 24/7 recovery service, Dad (on a landline from a telephone box!) and he turned up looking decidedly frosty 2hrs later in a 1950's Riley 1.5 with a roof rack made of ship girders, a shovel and a strong yard broom. We put the chassis on the unbreakable roof rack, melted blob of aluminium engine in the boot and swept up three bags of still warm ashes. The whole lot was then unceremoniously chucked in the skips at the nearby council waste site and my £250 plastic beauty, the precocious Barbie Doll of the fiberglass moulded 1970's economy car world was gone forever!
After this hot headed youthful debacle, and not particularly enjoying walking everywhere afterwards, I swiftly got my arse into gear. I slowed down a lot and passed my proper manual car test, and graduated onto another notoriously unreliable post war British Car manufacturing legend, Hillman Imps. These rusty tin worm metal money pits came with inherent overheating, constantly blowing head gasket problems and no inner sills completely free of charge.
But at least they had 4 wheels (one at each corner usually) and bald 'ZingZong' remoulded tyres in more or less permanent contact with the Tarmac.
Ahh those were halycon days.....
Peppa Pig..My fiery old friend......
My first car (1980?) was a 3 wheeled 850cc 39hp 'Reliant Robin' otherwise known in the UK as a Plastic Pig. They were rare cars even then, normally owned/used by a dour looking elderly couple with a yappy terrier in the back and the flat capped misery driver glaring at all and sundry who dared overtake his 30mph mobile roadblock.
This was a distinctly left field investment for a youngster and I sold my soul to satan and my beloved touring motorbike (Honda CX500) to a neanderthal from Kings Lynn to buy it because I hoped it would keep me (and 'if' as a spotty scruffy unkempt hormonal youth I was lucky enough to find one, a potential female 'friend') warm and cosy.
I even fitted a luxury Goodmans stereo radio/cassette player bought from my mums Kays catalogue on weekly instalments for those quiet secluded country lanes and dire recorded from Radio 1 or 'Top of the Pops' romantic music mix tapes. Why oh why did those cheap 20p cassettes from the market always jam and get mangled at the most inappropriate times? Sods law I suppose! Good job I carried a pencil for emergencies.
Like it's new teenage owner my plastic pig was inherently unstable, and the tiny single front wheel positively encouraged a dramatic 'Need for Speed' style action movie roll over on anything but the mildest corners or cambers.
You could drive three wheelers on a full motorcycle licence in the UK at that time, and being a woefully lazy typical teenager I hadn't passed my car driving test. I think I was about 17 or 18, so 42 years ago now!! My goodness how time flies.
As this glassfibre deathtrap had a proper engine and 4 speed gearbox under a flimsy bonnet I spent a lot of time with a well oily thumbed Haynes workshop manual, greasy hands, cheap Monkey metal spanners and skinned knuckles repairing, tinkering and learning. It was also (felt) quite nippy as having a wafer thin plastic body, no sound deadening and absolutely zero crash protection it was noisy and pretty light.
Unfortunately after several happy months conveying me around in comparative comfort it came to an abrupt charred and fiery sticky (melted) end.
So inevitably in rural Norfolk on a beautiful spring day, with me and my best mate Trevor in it speeding along at 35mph I overcooked the plastic pig in style one last time and rolled it on a right angle corner. The accident had absolutely none of the skill and aplomb of a world rally driving champion on a forest stage 'going off' at full tilt.
It was slow motion poetically surreal exploration of ineptitude coupled with the futility of life as ours flashed before us, and a painful journey through the dense foliage and roadside furniture by an inexperienced idiot and his faithful sidekick seeking salvation.
We tipped sedately upside down, diving pointy pig end first through a Beech hedge and rotten wooden fence before landing upside down in front of a picture postcard chocolate box country cottage on the drive.
A nice elderly man was sat quietly nearby with his parked BMW motorcycle, Thermos of gently steaming tea and easel painting the beautiful idyllic cottage view in watercolours, and we rolled past like a couple of halfwit drunken revellers on new years eve city centre binge spoiling the ambience and peaceful artistic atmosphere completely.
We clambered out of the now very squashed upside down pig with dented F1 Grand Prix egos and a few very minor cuts and bruises. A short circuit in the crumpled remains then quickly started a fire near the mortally wounded 12v battery. I attempted to douse it with my full fat Coke can contents, the still bewildered artists brush water and his tea but to no avail. Meltdown ensued and within 5 minutes it had been reduced by a carcinogenic plastic black fume filled volcanic inferno into a pile of toxic ashes that was going to need Hazmat suits and breathing apparatus to deal with.
The local Police turned up, checked my documents and cheapo third party only insurance, looked mildly amused and told me to get the still twitching and smouldering corpse of the cremated pig shifted asap.
So as you did back then I rang my free 24/7 recovery service, Dad (on a landline from a telephone box!) and he turned up looking decidedly frosty 2hrs later in a 1950's Riley 1.5 with a roof rack made of ship girders, a shovel and a strong yard broom. We put the chassis on the unbreakable roof rack, melted blob of aluminium engine in the boot and swept up three bags of still warm ashes. The whole lot was then unceremoniously chucked in the skips at the nearby council waste site and my £250 plastic beauty, the precocious Barbie Doll of the fiberglass moulded 1970's economy car world was gone forever!
After this hot headed youthful debacle, and not particularly enjoying walking everywhere afterwards, I swiftly got my arse into gear. I slowed down a lot and passed my proper manual car test, and graduated onto another notoriously unreliable post war British Car manufacturing legend, Hillman Imps. These rusty tin worm metal money pits came with inherent overheating, constantly blowing head gasket problems and no inner sills completely free of charge.
But at least they had 4 wheels (one at each corner usually) and bald 'ZingZong' remoulded tyres in more or less permanent contact with the Tarmac.
Ahh those were halycon days.....
t. (My dad or me).
peterperkins said:
Let's hear your first car stories.
Peppa Pig..My fiery old friend......
My first car (1980?) was a 3 wheeled 850cc 39hp 'Reliant Robin' otherwise known in the UK as a Plastic Pig. They were rare cars even then, normally owned/used by a dour looking elderly couple with a yappy terrier in the back and the flat capped misery driver glaring at all and sundry who dared overtake his 30mph mobile roadblock.
This was a distinctly left field investment for a youngster and I sold my soul to satan and my beloved touring motorbike (Honda CX500) to a neanderthal from Kings Lynn to buy it because I hoped it would keep me (and 'if' as a spotty scruffy unkempt hormonal youth I was lucky enough to find one, a potential female 'friend') warm and cosy.
I even fitted a luxury Goodmans stereo radio/cassette player bought from my mums Kays catalogue on weekly instalments for those quiet secluded country lanes and dire recorded from Radio 1 or 'Top of the Pops' romantic music mix tapes. Why oh why did those cheap 20p cassettes from the market always jam and get mangled at the most inappropriate times? Sods law I suppose! Good job I carried a pencil for emergencies.
Like it's new teenage owner my plastic pig was inherently unstable, and the tiny single front wheel positively encouraged a dramatic 'Need for Speed' style action movie roll over on anything but the mildest corners or cambers.
You could drive three wheelers on a full motorcycle licence in the UK at that time, and being a woefully lazy typical teenager I hadn't passed my car driving test. I think I was about 17 or 18, so 42 years ago now!! My goodness how time flies.
As this glassfibre deathtrap had a proper engine and 4 speed gearbox under a flimsy bonnet I spent a lot of time with a well oily thumbed Haynes workshop manual, greasy hands, cheap Monkey metal spanners and skinned knuckles repairing, tinkering and learning. It was also (felt) quite nippy as having a wafer thin plastic body, no sound deadening and absolutely zero crash protection it was noisy and pretty light.
Unfortunately after several happy months conveying me around in comparative comfort it came to an abrupt charred and fiery sticky (melted) end.
So inevitably in rural Norfolk on a beautiful spring day, with me and my best mate Trevor in it speeding along at 35mph I overcooked the plastic pig in style one last time and rolled it on a right angle corner. The accident had absolutely none of the skill and aplomb of a world rally driving champion on a forest stage 'going off' at full tilt.
It was slow motion poetically surreal exploration of ineptitude coupled with the futility of life as ours flashed before us, and a painful journey through the dense foliage and roadside furniture by an inexperienced idiot and his faithful sidekick seeking salvation.
We tipped sedately upside down, diving pointy pig end first through a Beech hedge and rotten wooden fence before landing upside down in front of a picture postcard chocolate box country cottage on the drive.
A nice elderly man was sat quietly nearby with his parked BMW motorcycle, Thermos of gently steaming tea and easel painting the beautiful idyllic cottage view in watercolours, and we rolled past like a couple of halfwit drunken revellers on new years eve city centre binge spoiling the ambience and peaceful artistic atmosphere completely.
We clambered out of the now very squashed upside down pig with dented F1 Grand Prix egos and a few very minor cuts and bruises. A short circuit in the crumpled remains then quickly started a fire near the mortally wounded 12v battery. I attempted to douse it with my full fat Coke can contents, the still bewildered artists brush water and his tea but to no avail. Meltdown ensued and within 5 minutes it had been reduced by a carcinogenic plastic black fume filled volcanic inferno into a pile of toxic ashes that was going to need Hazmat suits and breathing apparatus to deal with.
The local Police turned up, checked my documents and cheapo third party only insurance, looked mildly amused and told me to get the still twitching and smouldering corpse of the cremated pig shifted asap.
So as you did back then I rang my free 24/7 recovery service, Dad (on a landline from a telephone box!) and he turned up looking decidedly frosty 2hrs later in a 1950's Riley 1.5 with a roof rack made of ship girders, a shovel and a strong yard broom. We put the chassis on the unbreakable roof rack, melted blob of aluminium engine in the boot and swept up three bags of still warm ashes. The whole lot was then unceremoniously chucked in the skips at the nearby council waste site and my £250 plastic beauty, the precocious Barbie Doll of the fiberglass moulded 1970's economy car world was gone forever!
After this hot headed youthful debacle, and not particularly enjoying walking everywhere afterwards, I swiftly got my arse into gear. I slowed down a lot and passed my proper manual car test, and graduated onto another notoriously unreliable post war British Car manufacturing legend, Hillman Imps. These rusty tin worm metal money pits came with inherent overheating, constantly blowing head gasket problems and no inner sills completely free of charge.
But at least they had 4 wheels (one at each corner usually) and bald 'ZingZong' remoulded tyres in more or less permanent contact with the Tarmac.
Ahh those were halycon days.....
Actually helped someone driving this yesterday. He was doing 30 mph. Hit a pot hole and tipped over. I was in traffic so helped him push it back to driving position whilst he was sat in it. He gave me a thumbs up then continued on…Peppa Pig..My fiery old friend......
My first car (1980?) was a 3 wheeled 850cc 39hp 'Reliant Robin' otherwise known in the UK as a Plastic Pig. They were rare cars even then, normally owned/used by a dour looking elderly couple with a yappy terrier in the back and the flat capped misery driver glaring at all and sundry who dared overtake his 30mph mobile roadblock.
This was a distinctly left field investment for a youngster and I sold my soul to satan and my beloved touring motorbike (Honda CX500) to a neanderthal from Kings Lynn to buy it because I hoped it would keep me (and 'if' as a spotty scruffy unkempt hormonal youth I was lucky enough to find one, a potential female 'friend') warm and cosy.
I even fitted a luxury Goodmans stereo radio/cassette player bought from my mums Kays catalogue on weekly instalments for those quiet secluded country lanes and dire recorded from Radio 1 or 'Top of the Pops' romantic music mix tapes. Why oh why did those cheap 20p cassettes from the market always jam and get mangled at the most inappropriate times? Sods law I suppose! Good job I carried a pencil for emergencies.
Like it's new teenage owner my plastic pig was inherently unstable, and the tiny single front wheel positively encouraged a dramatic 'Need for Speed' style action movie roll over on anything but the mildest corners or cambers.
You could drive three wheelers on a full motorcycle licence in the UK at that time, and being a woefully lazy typical teenager I hadn't passed my car driving test. I think I was about 17 or 18, so 42 years ago now!! My goodness how time flies.
As this glassfibre deathtrap had a proper engine and 4 speed gearbox under a flimsy bonnet I spent a lot of time with a well oily thumbed Haynes workshop manual, greasy hands, cheap Monkey metal spanners and skinned knuckles repairing, tinkering and learning. It was also (felt) quite nippy as having a wafer thin plastic body, no sound deadening and absolutely zero crash protection it was noisy and pretty light.
Unfortunately after several happy months conveying me around in comparative comfort it came to an abrupt charred and fiery sticky (melted) end.
So inevitably in rural Norfolk on a beautiful spring day, with me and my best mate Trevor in it speeding along at 35mph I overcooked the plastic pig in style one last time and rolled it on a right angle corner. The accident had absolutely none of the skill and aplomb of a world rally driving champion on a forest stage 'going off' at full tilt.
It was slow motion poetically surreal exploration of ineptitude coupled with the futility of life as ours flashed before us, and a painful journey through the dense foliage and roadside furniture by an inexperienced idiot and his faithful sidekick seeking salvation.
We tipped sedately upside down, diving pointy pig end first through a Beech hedge and rotten wooden fence before landing upside down in front of a picture postcard chocolate box country cottage on the drive.
A nice elderly man was sat quietly nearby with his parked BMW motorcycle, Thermos of gently steaming tea and easel painting the beautiful idyllic cottage view in watercolours, and we rolled past like a couple of halfwit drunken revellers on new years eve city centre binge spoiling the ambience and peaceful artistic atmosphere completely.
We clambered out of the now very squashed upside down pig with dented F1 Grand Prix egos and a few very minor cuts and bruises. A short circuit in the crumpled remains then quickly started a fire near the mortally wounded 12v battery. I attempted to douse it with my full fat Coke can contents, the still bewildered artists brush water and his tea but to no avail. Meltdown ensued and within 5 minutes it had been reduced by a carcinogenic plastic black fume filled volcanic inferno into a pile of toxic ashes that was going to need Hazmat suits and breathing apparatus to deal with.
The local Police turned up, checked my documents and cheapo third party only insurance, looked mildly amused and told me to get the still twitching and smouldering corpse of the cremated pig shifted asap.
So as you did back then I rang my free 24/7 recovery service, Dad (on a landline from a telephone box!) and he turned up looking decidedly frosty 2hrs later in a 1950's Riley 1.5 with a roof rack made of ship girders, a shovel and a strong yard broom. We put the chassis on the unbreakable roof rack, melted blob of aluminium engine in the boot and swept up three bags of still warm ashes. The whole lot was then unceremoniously chucked in the skips at the nearby council waste site and my £250 plastic beauty, the precocious Barbie Doll of the fiberglass moulded 1970's economy car world was gone forever!
After this hot headed youthful debacle, and not particularly enjoying walking everywhere afterwards, I swiftly got my arse into gear. I slowed down a lot and passed my proper manual car test, and graduated onto another notoriously unreliable post war British Car manufacturing legend, Hillman Imps. These rusty tin worm metal money pits came with inherent overheating, constantly blowing head gasket problems and no inner sills completely free of charge.
But at least they had 4 wheels (one at each corner usually) and bald 'ZingZong' remoulded tyres in more or less permanent contact with the Tarmac.
Ahh those were halycon days.....
Dash cam footage overwritten so can’t get the reg.
Edited by anonymous-user on Thursday 2nd June 18:24
My first car was a Robin too - a yellow 750cc van, bought in 1978 for about £600. I had a full bike licence, but no car licence. I was actually looking for a Regal, as most Robins were out of budget. The van was languishing, unloved, at the back of a Reliant dealership.
It was a bit of a mess, having been used/abused by a builder. I fitted rear side windows and a back seat, did a few fibreglass repairs, fitted some Minilites and spacers on the back, and retrimmed the interior. After a home respray failed, I paid someone to paint it bright red.
I ran around in it for nearly 3 years, then traded it in against a mighty 850 Robin.
I finally took my car test in 1982, and traded the Robin against a used Rover 2600 SD1. That was a big mistake, falling apart at only 3 years old, so it quickly went and I bought a brand new XR2.
It was a bit of a mess, having been used/abused by a builder. I fitted rear side windows and a back seat, did a few fibreglass repairs, fitted some Minilites and spacers on the back, and retrimmed the interior. After a home respray failed, I paid someone to paint it bright red.
I ran around in it for nearly 3 years, then traded it in against a mighty 850 Robin.
I finally took my car test in 1982, and traded the Robin against a used Rover 2600 SD1. That was a big mistake, falling apart at only 3 years old, so it quickly went and I bought a brand new XR2.
I had a mk1 nova, 1.2 5 door hatch.
It just wouldn't die.
I fitted a cherry bomb silencer, so loud my friends could hear it coming roughly 2 miles away.
Nova GTR front bumper, bucket seats and harnesses too, was pretty cool.
Crashed it numerous times, but learnt all about handbrake turns and sliding it about.
Finally was killed off when an Astra GTE went into the back of me at a cruise.
It just wouldn't die.
I fitted a cherry bomb silencer, so loud my friends could hear it coming roughly 2 miles away.
Nova GTR front bumper, bucket seats and harnesses too, was pretty cool.
Crashed it numerous times, but learnt all about handbrake turns and sliding it about.
Finally was killed off when an Astra GTE went into the back of me at a cruise.
1982 Ford Fiesta 950 pop plus (45 bhp) - absolutely nothing to say about it - actually cracked an indicated 100 mph a couple of times - had my first accident in it - ran into the back of a maestro repaired with p38 and rattle cans from halfords (colour match was terrible) did about 40,000 miles in it over 2 yrs - part ex’d it for a MG midget (1500 rubber bumper version) which provided far more memories (good and bad - mostly bad)
My first car I had a "racing gold" rover 25 that I bought from a dodgy east end car dealership fronted by a man with 2 front teeth missing for the princely sum of £500. I took my mate out for a drive the following day, he tried to put the window down but it stopped going down after about an inch. He looked at me and laughed. I told him to try harder and he did. A loud pop sound and the window went down another inch. Keep going I said. Eventually the window was down half way.
Only noticed when stopped that there had been a "repair" on the caved in door using a significant amount of filler that was now deposited on the motorway. Proper layers upon layers of filler. It survived for 8 months bandaged up with duct tape. Even somehow went through an MOT like that. Traded it in for £100
Only noticed when stopped that there had been a "repair" on the caved in door using a significant amount of filler that was now deposited on the motorway. Proper layers upon layers of filler. It survived for 8 months bandaged up with duct tape. Even somehow went through an MOT like that. Traded it in for £100
A yellow 1982 Skoda Estelle 120 back in 1990 aged 17. I managed the first year without issue to get my no claims bonus, but then it went downhill fast after that. Firstly I ran into the back of a Jag on my way to college, then shortly after that I wrapped it around a lamp post going around a bend in the wet righting it off sadly.
I still have some great memories of it though, but I did have to live with the constant ridicule because of the Skoda jokes though! I still can't take Skodas seriously even now.
I still have some great memories of it though, but I did have to live with the constant ridicule because of the Skoda jokes though! I still can't take Skodas seriously even now.
First car I ever owned was fixed and sold before I drove it as the insurance would be astronomical, (Mini with a trick engine).
First car owned and driven was a Hillman Imp, EHP700L, which was found by my mother, owned by one of her staff and bought because it was low mileage and couldn't do more than 50mph. (That was fixed quickly; throttle cable adjusted properly). Driving practise was spent scaring my mother half to death and listening to The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy on Radio 4. I passed my test on 1st May 1981 and spent most of my disposable income on petrol/oil/service sundries, (Saturday kid in a gents outfitters and Sunday paperboy, then potman in a pub in Penkridge).
1981 was busy; A levels, 6 weeks in Canada, poorer results than expected, hurried, stressed trips to crammers in Bristol, Bedford and North London, got dumped, visiting Polytechnics in Southampton and Sunderland. I didn't retake the A levels, so went to Sunderland Polytechnic, arriving on the 1st October 1981.
The car stayed in Staffordshire until the holidays, when it was pressed into visiting the new girlfriend at every opportunity - first accident was late on a Sunday night on the B676, sliding into a ditch. Damage was minimal, changing some suspension bushes, getting the snails off and a good wash, but ego was seriously dented.
EHP700L was passed to my sister for her driving practice, while I mechanically rebuilt KOP17F, a faster Hillman Imp with a Weber and a lot of go-faster bits. KOP17F was ultimately distroyed by a Ford Escort van and replaced by HLE826K, another Imp, with even more go faster bits.
First car owned and driven was a Hillman Imp, EHP700L, which was found by my mother, owned by one of her staff and bought because it was low mileage and couldn't do more than 50mph. (That was fixed quickly; throttle cable adjusted properly). Driving practise was spent scaring my mother half to death and listening to The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy on Radio 4. I passed my test on 1st May 1981 and spent most of my disposable income on petrol/oil/service sundries, (Saturday kid in a gents outfitters and Sunday paperboy, then potman in a pub in Penkridge).
1981 was busy; A levels, 6 weeks in Canada, poorer results than expected, hurried, stressed trips to crammers in Bristol, Bedford and North London, got dumped, visiting Polytechnics in Southampton and Sunderland. I didn't retake the A levels, so went to Sunderland Polytechnic, arriving on the 1st October 1981.
The car stayed in Staffordshire until the holidays, when it was pressed into visiting the new girlfriend at every opportunity - first accident was late on a Sunday night on the B676, sliding into a ditch. Damage was minimal, changing some suspension bushes, getting the snails off and a good wash, but ego was seriously dented.
EHP700L was passed to my sister for her driving practice, while I mechanically rebuilt KOP17F, a faster Hillman Imp with a Weber and a lot of go-faster bits. KOP17F was ultimately distroyed by a Ford Escort van and replaced by HLE826K, another Imp, with even more go faster bits.
Edited by jeremy996 on Friday 3rd June 21:01
I was a Vauxhall boy before I could drive... thank John Cleland and the BTCC for that however I the realised that anything remotely interesting from their line up was hideously dear to insure. However, a friend of a friend had a 309XS, so basically a 1.6 GTi but somehow was invisible to insurers and so, about 4 days after passing my test I hunted down a 1988 on an E plate, in red and standard. Paid £550 which I can't work out if it was was dear.
I immediately disregarded any concerns for the servicing or general state of the thing and instead drove the doors of it as any self respecting 17yr old would. It was a hardly little thing but finally threw in the towel during a rather large burnout, firing the internals of the gearbox out through the casing. A friends Dad who dabbled with obscure French nonsense then built some sort of mutant 2.0 for it using bits from anything and everything but it was never quite right. By this stage it had Group N arms, Bilsteins, GTi quad fogs and spoiler and was on 1.9GTi alloys.
Eventually I went full retard and had matey's Dad put an Mi16 engine in, obviously negating to tell the insurers any of this because 17yrs old ad ill advised. It went well then, really well however during one fateful day I was hustling it down the Lang Whang and it stuttered under load, i the wet, whilst cornering at pace... and you probably know where this is going. I thought I'd mastered it's hillarious lift off oversteer but alas, no... no I hadn't ad so it went into a sheep field backwards and broke stuff.
By that stage, I was getting a bit fed up with it... it was never quite 100% even though it was fast. It used to consume driveshafts and it was, oddly... starting to get a bit soft underneath so in the end it was dragged to matey's dads place to be repaired but days became weeks and I'd had my attention grabbed by the fact I could insure a Cavalier GSi2000 (still aged 17!) and so ended up buying a 1992 one in grey, totally standard and thus the 309 was forgotten about and it's fate remains a mystery. Looking back, what a waste... but what a car!
I immediately disregarded any concerns for the servicing or general state of the thing and instead drove the doors of it as any self respecting 17yr old would. It was a hardly little thing but finally threw in the towel during a rather large burnout, firing the internals of the gearbox out through the casing. A friends Dad who dabbled with obscure French nonsense then built some sort of mutant 2.0 for it using bits from anything and everything but it was never quite right. By this stage it had Group N arms, Bilsteins, GTi quad fogs and spoiler and was on 1.9GTi alloys.
Eventually I went full retard and had matey's Dad put an Mi16 engine in, obviously negating to tell the insurers any of this because 17yrs old ad ill advised. It went well then, really well however during one fateful day I was hustling it down the Lang Whang and it stuttered under load, i the wet, whilst cornering at pace... and you probably know where this is going. I thought I'd mastered it's hillarious lift off oversteer but alas, no... no I hadn't ad so it went into a sheep field backwards and broke stuff.
By that stage, I was getting a bit fed up with it... it was never quite 100% even though it was fast. It used to consume driveshafts and it was, oddly... starting to get a bit soft underneath so in the end it was dragged to matey's dads place to be repaired but days became weeks and I'd had my attention grabbed by the fact I could insure a Cavalier GSi2000 (still aged 17!) and so ended up buying a 1992 one in grey, totally standard and thus the 309 was forgotten about and it's fate remains a mystery. Looking back, what a waste... but what a car!
Turn7 said:
My first car was Viva HA, all barried up as was it was back then.
The "ICE" was a full install of a Sharp radio tape deck that had APSS on the tape deck - high tech back then,
Sadly written off by me showing off and being inexperienced and not having half the skill I thought I had.
(Pendant mode) that's a HB.The "ICE" was a full install of a Sharp radio tape deck that had APSS on the tape deck - high tech back then,
Sadly written off by me showing off and being inexperienced and not having half the skill I thought I had.
finlo said:
Turn7 said:
(Pendant mode) that's a HB.My first car was a Mk3 Fiesta 1.3 Equipe I was given by my gran when she gave up driving. Only had it about 6 months as it was on the point of needing a load of money spending on it and replaced it with another Fiesta, this time a 1.25 Style Mk6.5, the only new car I have had. Made the right decision aa it failed it's next MOT disastrously mostly on rust.
That's a great story OP. 
My first car in 1976 was a 1967 MK2 Cortina rust-bucket in poverty spec with vinyl seats, rubber mats on the floor and about 10K miles on the second trip around! But it had a 1600E wooden dash, a remote gearchange, and GT badges after a perilous climb up the scrappers at Sunbury Salvage.
It also had inbuilt water features. Water got into the boot through the rusty rear wheel-arches, boot lid seal and somehow into the pond in the rear passenger footwell. The sloshing noises stopped after I pulled a rubber bung out of the footwell.
It made me learn how to use tin-snips on Duckhams tins and a pop-riveter to stop the filler falling into the holes in the inner wings, and rattle-cans obviously!
My first car in 1976 was a 1967 MK2 Cortina rust-bucket in poverty spec with vinyl seats, rubber mats on the floor and about 10K miles on the second trip around! But it had a 1600E wooden dash, a remote gearchange, and GT badges after a perilous climb up the scrappers at Sunbury Salvage.
It also had inbuilt water features. Water got into the boot through the rusty rear wheel-arches, boot lid seal and somehow into the pond in the rear passenger footwell. The sloshing noises stopped after I pulled a rubber bung out of the footwell.
It made me learn how to use tin-snips on Duckhams tins and a pop-riveter to stop the filler falling into the holes in the inner wings, and rattle-cans obviously!
1967 - an ancient Ford 100E.
I was in college. We kept a 6 inch nail in it to write down the number of the various girls on the roof. Everything leaked, so the odd egg in the radiator was good when we made breakfast.
It was one of the most profitable cars I every owned percentage wise. I bought it for two quid and sold it for ten at the end of a year. Capitalist's dream!!.
I was in college. We kept a 6 inch nail in it to write down the number of the various girls on the roof. Everything leaked, so the odd egg in the radiator was good when we made breakfast.
It was one of the most profitable cars I every owned percentage wise. I bought it for two quid and sold it for ten at the end of a year. Capitalist's dream!!.
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