Back in 2010, when I was a giddy young enthusiast starting high school, I’d pass by a small used car dealership on my way. It was always worth peeking through the gates, but to date the most interesting car I’d seen was a burgundy Vauxhall Omega V6, which didn’t exactly twang my 10-year-old heartstrings.
But then there was a new arrival – a British Racing Green 1994 Mini. Pumped-up arches, cream interior, it looked the business, and daydreams of a classic Mini on throttle bodies barking its way through Wales ensued. No nonsense, paired-back thrills. Proper driving. ‘When I’m 17’, I thought.
Belting around in a ropey old classic as a teenager with a newly minted licence was the dream. But when the time came the reality was somewhat different: a one hundred quid Fiat Punto.
Actually like all new drivers experiencing the freedom of the open road for the very first time, I quite I enjoyed that Fiat – but then came the call from a car dealer friend in Italy. ‘I’ve got something I think you’ll like,’ he said. That ‘something’ turned out to be a 1974 Lancia Fulvia, complete with rally pedigree, bags of style and rorty V4 engine slung out ahead of the front axle. Enough, in other words, to free my mind from all thoughts of that Mini.
