The shape of SAABs to come, and Nikolai's new TVR.

The next generation of SAABs could be very interesting...

There's a fair bit of rumour-mongery at the minute. Not that there's anything new in that, but this time it's centred mainly around two brands I've always rather been interested in; SAAB and TVR.

According to Dutch site Autointernationaal, SAAB wants to bring back the spirit of the old 900 with it's next 9-3 range. By this, I mean we're looking at losing the saloon and estate, and possibly looking back to three and five door hatchbacks to complement the cabriolet. SAAB haven't yet confirmed or denied this, but they've just been handed a big cheque by the European Investment Bank which should cover it's development and more besides.

And what for old Trevor's baby? The last I heard of TVR was that the five year old Russian who held the purse strings was planning to close down the Blackpool factory, and re-establish production in Russia. This rumour proved to be half true. It now looks as if Nikolai Smolenski is planning to launch a new car in the near future; to be made in Germany and to use an American V8. Rumours would have us believe that the US V8 is to enable worldwide homologation, as TVR would be looking at the US market amongst others.

But my column is not a news column, it's an opinion column. And a good job, because I'm one of the most opinionated chaps you're likely to meet. So it stands to reason that if I've mentioned these rumours I've got something to say about them. And I have.

I like the rumours about SAAB. It's not two months since I was bemoaning the lack of individuality on the roads, and now it looks like we could see the return of one of my favourite oddball shapes to the roads. A new version of the 900 Classic would be an interesting looking piece of kit, and given SAAB's history of turbocharging it could be made to go rather well. And imagine a 4wd rally version...

The TVR, on the other hand, I'm not so sure about. Alright, the idea of sticking a US lump in a TVR was first coined in the 1960s by Jack Griffith, who 'did a Carroll' Shelby' to the Grantura. And in the UK these cars were sold under the TVR name. But somehow, I can't see a US-friendly German made sports car being a true TVR. I can't see it being a slightly scary, very hairy sportster along the lines of the original Big Healey. This worries me.

We've got Corvette for people who want a sports car with a Yank V8. We've got Porsches for those who want German sportscars. And I can't see a combination of the two working as a TVR. Good luck to the Smolenski boy, but I think I'll wait and see before praising the idea.

Rover Regency Reminisces

Rover 827 Regency - lives up to expectations

Always loved Rover 800s. Indeed, I'm sitting on my hands - after missing out on that Montego last week I have the urge to buy something else as a reflex action - and I've spotted a rather nice Sterling Coupe for £250...

That said, I have as yet only driven one 800. And much as I liked it, living in the middle of a housing estate and on a narrow road it wouldn't really be practical for me to have bought that one.

It was a MK1 827Si. Right engine, I'm not averse to MK1s, but perhaps the wrong spec for my liking - I'm into leather, so it would have to be a Sterling for me. The slight problem was that as I settled into the grey velour seat, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the rear window some two and a bit feet further back than it would normally be. This was no ordinary 800, it was a Startins Regency limousine. And the owner was in the passenger seat. And I was to take it for a spin on some very narrow roads on a farm.

Let me recount the story as to how I got to be in this position. This was back in October, and my friend Mal Watson had invited me to what would be the last Rover 800 and Maestro/Montego enthusiasts' day out at his barn in Yorkshire, full off spares for anything you can imagine. We're talking a place with a Bond Equipe in 2 pieces amongst it's contents, the MG Maestro Turbo prototype, and an MGBGT shell on a shelf on the far wall. The reason this was to be the last is because Mal has since moved to Somerset after a change in circumstances. At this event, I met Chris Ellis - a chap I've known on various Rover 800 forums, who has just under a million 800s including (at the time) a Regency.

I asked him how it felt to drive compared to a standard 800, and his response was to invite me to have a spin. Well, could I really say no? Setting off, my concern was that I was turning right - immediately to my right was the daily driver of my good friend Richard Moss, a silver LPG-equipped 820Si. Not that I should have worried, for I found the steering of the 800 to be fingertip light, and the car felt no bigger than my daily 306. Indeed, it felt smaller than the Montego 1.6 Mayfair I was to drive the same day. It also felt smaller in that I seemed to be sitting lower, holding a larger steering wheel - this car was made as a tool of pleasure as much as a mode of transport.

To turn, I spotted a driveway some nine feet in width or so, which seemed ideal. And it was, but for the dog stood behind the car. I slid the exquisite gear selector into reverse, half-hoping that the sudden appearance of white lights would make the dog think this large creation was in fact a UFO, and thus run away. This failed. So Chris hopped out, and went to move the dog - which as a result attached itself to him like a limpet for the rest of the day. Backing up was just as easy as going forwards - the Regency may be large but visibility is second to none. As I parked again, I reflected upon the possibility of 800 ownership. He's since parted company with the regency, and had I the space I'd have bought it. But an 18 foot long car isn't practical.

A sixteen foot one, though, is a different matter. Now, where did I put the ad for that £250 Sterling Coupe?

Montego love

The Austin Montego 1.6 Mayfair; delightfully charming.


I nearly bought a Montego the other evening. Sight unseen, a 1988 Vanden Plas 2.0i automatic, in Diamond White over Hurricane Grey. I've known the majority of the car's owners since June 2006, and it only needed a little work to get back on the road. Sadly, it had gone by the time I asked about it, two days after being advertised on the Club site. Not that I had anywhere to store it anyway.

I blame my mate Ray.

Well, if I'm honest, blaming Ray isn't fair. I've had a bit of a thing for Montegos since seeing the car I nearly bought, three years ago, in the hands of another acquaintance. Especially Mayfairs and VPs. So when Ray very kindly offered to let me take his 1.6 Mayfair - in Clove Brown with a Caramel interior for all those in the Brown Car Appreciation Guild - for a quick spin, I wasn't going to refuse.

It's said you make your mind up about a car within the first ten seconds of getting into it. If this is the case, the Montego made a very favourable impression. No, the seats were not leather, but there was wood, it was brown, and let us not forget this car's place in history. The Montego was the last wholly British mainstream production car - the last Austin Rover with no Jap or Jerry input.

I'm a huge fan of automatic gearboxes, and since passing my driving test six months before taking the wheel of the Monty I'd not driven a car with a do-it-yourself 'box. I was thus concerned I'd make a hash of it. Not so. The clutch was forgiving, with a comfortable bite point, the gearbox was smooth, and the car was comfortable enough to make me forget I was in unfamiliar territory. It's spacious too, with ample headroom even for my 6'3" frame. Visibility from the car was second to none, especially out of the back, and I found myself liking it.

What I wasn't prepared for was the steering. Perhaps it's because I'm used to having power assisted steering. Perhaps (though I'd hate to admit it) it's because I'm a limp-wristed fairy with arms like toothpicks - weak, thin, and brittle. But I was unprepared for the initial weight of the steering. It freed up nicely when on the move, however, and I was able to consider more thoroughly my opinion of the car.

One more criticism. I'm a creature of habit, and if I am driving a manual car I like reverse to be underneath fifth in the gate. Whilst I'm happy to put up with a reverse gear next to first instead, I did not like the idea of pushing the lever down, rather than pulling up or leaving as is, to engage it. I admit, it took a minute or two of befuddlement before I gave in and just read the gearknob to discover the art of selecting reverse. But in a car with a proper 'box this would not prove a problem.

It's even comfortable and quiet on the motorway - I've been in noisier and less refined Jaguars. Whilst I admit there was a draught coming from somewhere round the passenger door frame, I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and assume a faulty seal is the cause, not a poor design. I had trouble believing the car was 23 years old, built to a 25 year old design.

Would I buy an Austin Montego? If you look to the top of this article you'll see I nearly did. One with leather to satisfy my love of the upmarket, with PAS to rescue my weedy little arms, and an automatic gearbox to satisfy my lazy side. And if a Yorkshireman is willing to put his money where his mouth is, you can rest assured he's suitably impressed.

The 306, six months on.

Peugeot's 306. A cracking buy.

Six months ago, I wrote a piece telling everybody in the market for a cheap car to buy a Peugeot 306. At this point, I'd run one for perhaps two months. Do I still feel the same, six months down the line? There's only one way to tell, and that's to look at it objectively.

I found a matching car - indeed, the one pictured above - with twice the mileage but three years newer a plate. That said, it was a late registration in that colour and as a MK1. That car is £950. Given that we paid £1500 in 2003, and I see no reason to sell for less that the car pictured, it has cost under a hundred pounds a year in depreciation. That's as close to depreciation-free motoring as what was then an eight year old car can offer.

It's quick enough, being powered by a 1.8 four of some 103bhp. The automatic gearbox provides a decent kickdown - not so much in terms of outright urge but I suspect this is more down to the car's age and the fact that short journeys do not endear themselves to peak engine condition. I always feel as though I'm in control too - drive a 306 and you understand instantly why the GTi6 was THE hot hatch to beat in the 90s.

I needn't repeat words I wrote six months ago, and which are freely available on this blog if you're interested. Suffice it to say the car is economical, spacious, airy, and scrubs up incredibly well for a 15 year old family hack. The radio is again excellent, with either a column stalk or buttons within reach which can be used to adjust the sound without taking your eyes from the road.

Another advantage to an automatic gearbox I could not foresee is it's usefulness in injury. In August I managed to damage the ligaments of my left ankle rather badly. My limp was rather pronounced despite the fact I tried concealing it from family members and friends, yet I was still able to drive in complete and utter comfort.

I mentioned the unique build quality of the French - and really, it's not as bad as I made it out. Yes, one piece of trim is held on with Blu-Tack. Yes, one piece until recently resided in the glovebox. But said piece, following some nifty modifications with a penknife and a file, went where it should have been from the factory. A bit of tape to secure the fix lest it break again did the job, and the car is now as close to concours (but filthy - I never wash cars in cold weather) as it can be. I'm still looking for a replacement steering wheel, incidentally - if anyone has a good beige four spoke wheel for a 306, get in touch.

If anything, my praise for Peugeot's peppy people's car is higher than ever. I really do understand the car's appeal, and for the ridiculously low sums they command now, as a Bangernomics advocate I heartily recommend you buy onewhilst there are still some decent ones left.

The best small car in the world

The best small car in the world. Buy one.

With the exception of the first few lessons in that God-awful Yaris, I learned to drive in a 2007 Ford Fiesta 1.25 Style. It taught me a lot. And I'm happy to have had such a highly regarded car as my first long-term steed, for it gave me a chance to make my mind up properly. And my decision is this. Ford's Fiesta is the best small car in the world. Anybody who wants a small car at Fiesta money and does not buy a Fiesta frankly needs his (or, as a city car, more likely her) head examining.

Grasp the door handle of a 2007 Ford Fiesta Style and, whilst it is black scratchy plastic, at least it feels solid and chunky. Get into the comfortable but oh so plebeian cloth seat, and the comfortably sized steering wheel falls neatly to hand once adjusted to suit one's driving position. All the controls were within reach and placed where you would intuitively look, and the cabin had a quality feel. Nice and sensible dash too, for a modern small car.

So, start the engine. The 1242cc four thrums into life eagerly, you snick the stubby gear lever into a well-placed first gear, and off we go. Where we are very pleasantly surprised. On paper, the 1.25 Fiesta is slower than evolution (Of Darwin's type, not Mitsubishi's) yet on the road it feels nippy, smooth, and quick. If anything, too quick - this is a car which encourages spirited driving, and I found myself over the speed limit more than was perhaps wise for a man on a provisional licence. The gearbox was smooth, with a pleasant change action (A Ford strength, as testified by letters of compliment by a Mr F. Flintstone) and a sensitive yet not overly delicate clutch. Turn-in was sharp, and it put a smile on your face. This was a small car in which excellent progress could be made.

With space for even my six foot three frame and ample room to wear the headpiece of the Coldstream Guards in the front, it really should have been no surprise to find that, excepting a somewhat awkward entry and exit procedure through the gap twixt front door and front seat, the back seat was more than ample for someone of proper proportions. Two of his rugby-playing mates could even have joined him on the back seat without causing much consternation - well, where space was concerned anyway. Not that I had cause to look, but I should imagine the boot was more than capable of taking unfeasibly sized boxes of rubbish to the tip, or of taking the shopping home from Sainsburys. Whilst I'm considering practical matters, it should drink less than an abstemious vicar.

Given the above eulogy, it's only fair I should draw attention to this car's weak spots. It's far too wide; my right elbow does not need six inches of space and a thick door to seperate it from the world outside. Lose an acceptable amount of this and we still can chop six inches from the car's width - in cities narrower cars are an advantage. I also think that anybody planning on motorway work would be better served by a 1.4 or even 1.6 Fiesta. You see, the 1.25 engine is fine round town, but it is far happier in top to cruise at 60 than 70. I found myself speeding up and coasting back down unintentionally on the motorway, like the asthmatic kid in PE lessons who didn't understand the concept of pacing himself at cross country. The easiest way to average 70 was for me to drive at 80 - the car's efforts to relax me resulted in a fair compromise.

But two flies is what is otherwise the most pleasant ointment in it's class are not enough to dissuade me from recommending the Fiesta. If there's a better small car, send me one with a full tank and I'll make an informed decision.

Toyota's town toddler; as good as it's painted?

Toyota's Yaris; not that nice, really.

The first car I ever drove with an internal combustion engine, gearbox, and more than one seat was a Toyota Yaris D4-D. To all those who own and love Yarises, I'm very sorry, I may as well admit this here in the first paragraph. I hated the thing.

The rest of the motoring press seem pretty unanimous in their appraisal of the small Toyota; fun, neat handling, easy to drive, and refined. I'll grant it one out of four. For a car running on the fuel of Satan and tractors, it was very refined. From inside, I wouldn't have guessed it were a tractor at first. Fun? No. Neat handling? No. Easy to drive? No.

I'll launch my first attack upon the gearbox. No, the gearknob. Utterly horrid elephant's-arse grey plastic, as uninspiring as the gearbox was bad. I vividly remember having three goes to get it into first gear, having hit third and, bizarrely, neutral, before getting the right gear. This was not my fault - it was often easier at junctions to aim for second and throw it back from there. The one I drove at least had a forgiving clutch - although a friend of the owner told me months later that the clutch in it was well past it's best anyway!

Second attack. The dashboard. Oh God. As a Maestro and Montego fan, not to mention the Audi quattro, it would be unfair of me to attack the car for having a digital dashboard. But I'm going to. The damn thing was set in a pod, in the middle of the dash, where despite Toyota's claims it took more effort to see than it would behind the wheel. Add to this the fact it acted as a strobe light set in and amongst the varying grey plastics of the dash, and you begin to understand just how emetic the interior of the Yaris was. At least, the bits I remember. Most of it was too forgettable.

I'll be fair to it again here, after all, it's only fair. It did have light steering, which made it an easy car to park. However, it could have been light without seemingly completely devoid of feel. I found it to be greatly over-assisted, and frankly not a tool for the keen driver.

So I've lambasted it for it's forgettable interior, awful plastics, emetic dashboard, and reticent gearbox. Was there anything else? Oh yes. Ugly as sin. But I'll forgive it that, it's not meant to be pretty. The one I tried was also a diesel - as much as I despise the idea of driving round in a tractor, I shan't deny that diesels work well in the sort of cars I like; big automatics. Their torque characteristics make such cars feel effortless, whilst returning significantly better fuel consumption than the big V8 I'd personally buy anyway. But a diesel city car? That takes stinginess to a whole new level. Add to this that the engine displaces just 1.3 litres - and as such any torque gains are lost by the corpuscular capacity of the powerplant - and the logic of a diesel engine is seen to be highly questionable.

I'm sure it's a very practical car, I'm sure it holds it's value, I'm sure young single carefree hipsters and grannies love it alike. But I wouldn't buy one. I'd have a Fiesta instead.

This used to be the future.

Sinclair's C5; ahead of it's time.



I got to considering my motoring career thus far today. And it struck me; whilst I've alluded to most cars I've driven in past blogs, I've never actually written a proper road test. During the course of my life so far, I've driven some 6 different models, and I think it would be a fair and reasonable aim for me to chronicle them chronologically, over the next few days. So, here goes.

The first car I drove, some years ago, wasn't really a car as such. It's fairer to describe the Sinclair C5 as a vision of the future that didn't pay off. Sir Clive Sinclair had dreamed of a personal transport solution since he was a small boy; an electric vehicle to be used by one and all. His vision was not necessarily for an eco-vehicle, yet as a lightweight electric and pedal powered trike it was just that, a decade and a half ahead of it's time. As legislation dating from 1983 dictated that anybody over the age of fourteen was able to drive one with no licence, insurance, tax or safety gear, I did just that.

As I mentioned, I was only about fourteen when I drove the C5. I hadn't yet reached the lofty heights I now gaze down from. Yet, for a chap of normal size, the Sinclair seemed perfectly comfortable - the seat was well shaped and comfortable, the handlebars fell naturally to hand, and whilst not snug it didn't feel excessively big. Time, I thought, to release the brake and set off.

Ride comfort wasn't brilliant actually, but was better than I'd expected. It steered well, and was capable of what seemed like silly speeds. Silly given that with just one wheel governing the direction of travel, I turned in slightly quickly and nearly tipped the C5 - borrowed from a man watching on, ashen of face - onto it's side. I then decided the car/trike/toy wasn't as safe as it could have been.

There was another flaw. I drove this one on private land, with no significant traffic. Had I been on a busy main road, with juggernauts aplenty, and even cars bigger than, say, Fiestas, I would have felt very exposed and unsafe. I also hate to imagine how dead I'd be in a head on collision even with such a beast as the cat-killer, or Reliant Robin, to give it it's proper title.

In summary, then, the C5 is damn good fun as a plaything away from the roads. It might even be fun to source three or four and race them round a car park one evening with your mates. But as a mode of transport I cannot take the C5 seriously. It's too flawed to be a viable proposition. Dead prophetic, though. If you'd told me in 1985 that in twenty five years electric cars would be a big thing, even in hybrid form, I'd not have believed you. This is in part due to the fact that I would have been minus six years old, but mainly because the C5 seemed so laughable, the idea couldn't be taken seriously. How wrong we were...