The car museum with a twist

Nicky Coates and I were great childhood friends. We did everything together, fuelled by Alphabetti spaghetti on toasted slabs of buttered white bread, washed down with Nesquik and followed by Angel Delight. His mum had a Mini Traveller; you know the ‘Woodie’, with its timber rear frame. But living next to the sea warped the spars and the rear doors had a habit of springing open when least expected.

On the way home from school, Nicky and I would sit across the rear, the family Labrador between us. One day Mrs Coates took off at the traffic lights outside the police station with a bit too much vim and by the time she was 100 yards up the road, Nicky, me and the dog were sitting in the road wearing somewhat bemused expressions.