I’VE bought another car.
Well, when I say “bought”, I mean I’ve made the first of several dozen payments towards eventually owning the vehicle.
And it’s not that I’m amassing a collection, just that this is the latest in a long line of four-wheeled acquisitions spanning almost half a century of driving.
In some small ways it’s a motoring milestone – my first ever van-style people carrier (a grey Vauxhall Combo Life with about 15,000 miles on the clock) and perhaps the last car I will be able to buy before having to pass the government’s proposed compulsory eye tests for older motorists.
It’s also roughly the 20th car I’ve owned in the process of racking up around a million miles on the road, prompting fond memories of those earlier investments, good and bad, which play such a big part in our lives without us fully realising it.
They may be inanimate hunks of metal to many, but for millions car ownership is a hobby bordering on an obsession, spanning more than a century of motoring technology, from those first open-top tourers of the 1900s through the sleek Monte Carlo Rally racers of the 1930s and the glorious chrome-encrusted Buicks, Cadillacs and Oldsmobiles of the 1950s to the throaty roar of a 21st-century supercar.
“The poetry of motion! The real way to travel! O poop-poop!” raved Toad in The Wind in the Willows.
And generations of teenagers have dreamed of the lure of the open road, the freedom that passing your driving test can offer you – presuming you have enough money to buy and run a car, given the cost of modern insurance premiums.
Our cars form a quiet backdrop to our lives, rarely taking centre stage in our photo albums but an essential part of our daily commute, weekend outings and family holidays.
Repairs, breakdowns and accidents may pepper our nightmares, yet we yearn for the open road and flood across the Channel in our thousands every summer to roam the backroads and medieval towns of continental Europe.
We all have a soft spot for that very first car, of course, however humble, and mine was hard won – a light blue Austin 1100 I bought for £200 from a South African when I first passed my test in May 1979.
HSE 981H seemed to be in pretty good condition for a nine-year-old car, paid for with wages amassed during a three-month summer job on a gas pipelaying barge off the coast of Argentina.
Sadly, that showroom sparkle didn’t last long. When joyriders took it for a spin in Glasgow it didn’t take too long to track it down, but the police left it with the windows down until we were able to trek to Rutherglen to pick it up.
The carpets were drenched – and a week’s rain-soaked holiday in the Highlands meant the sodden carpets needed to be thrown out, leaving the rust-covered chassis floor bare.
Its successor was a smart-looking trendsetter built in 1975. HSA 498N was a Peugeot 304 saloon in Alaskan white with comfortable velour-trimmed seats and a spacious interior.
But a year or two spent on an Aberdeenshire farm at Udny was enough to reduce the car to a shell of its former self. The farm track to our cottage ran uphill and in winter became a treacherous toboggan run with a kink halfway up.
To reach the cottage meant attaining sufficient momentum to bounce gently off the snow walls cleared by the farm tractor and glide to the cottage door. Too slow, and you slid back down the incline and had to start again.
Like many models of its era, the 304 was not designed to cope with the salt and snow of an intense Scottish winter, never mind such rough treatment. Its demise was as rapid as it was inevitable, so badly rusted that if not wedged into position the driver’s side window would drop clear through the door sill onto the road and need to be awkwardly manoeuvred back into place by hand.
Perhaps it’s no surprise that only a couple of 304 saloons survive to this day of the million that flowed off French production lines. And I’m apparently not the only owner to bemoan Peugeot’s less than impressive anti-corrosion techniques of the 1970s.
One long-standing enthusiast who tracked down a surviving 304 to restore recalls how his first ever car was almost identical to mine: “Unfortunately it turned to dust over the four years I owned it, when the cost of welding finally exceeded its worth.”
Another much-loved but ill-fated purchase came in the dramatic wedge-shaped outline of the futuristic Austin Princess, an altogether more desirable product than the much-criticised Morris Marina and Austin Allegro which would become symbols of the crisis facing Britain’s struggling motor industry in the 1970s.
In terms of cabin space and interior fittings, the luxurious 2200 HLS wedge, decked out in glorious British racing green, cut quite a dash. But British Leyland build quality and reliability ensured it would not stand the test of time.
A mixed bag of other models would replace it during the early 1980s, choices mostly dictated by price rather than desirability. The worst? In terms of driving experience, undoubtedly a horrid orange Polski Fiat 125 whose bargain-basement price tag couldn’t compensate for the car’s dated feel and achingly lacklustre performance and handling.
It wasn’t the outright cheapest acquisition, though – that honour went to a humble blue Vauxhall Viva virtually donated by a friend from the Isle of Man. Other brief acquisitions included a lumbering big old Volvo 240 estate and a blue Escort estate that thrummed like a Tube train because of problems with the transmission which were never resolved.
By the mid-1980s, a firm favourite was a luxurious old Volvo 264 saloon from 1977 – OES 133R. Decked out in green metallic with electric windows, leather seats and bags of interior space, this was one of those rare older models that was always a delight to drive.
The bouncy ride harked back to some of the huge old limousines I’d ogled on a grand tour of North America, while the smell of polished leather reminded me of our family’s very first car, an ancient grey Wolseley 16/60 saloon I was allowed to sneak into the garage to play in as a child.
Something of a forgotten 60s classic, those Wolseley saloons boasted a huge steering wheel, burnished wood fascia and a colourful array of lights at night – not to mention the illuminated bonnet badge that was a hallmark of the marque from the 1930s.
But I digress. My beloved Volvo saloon may have been my eighth car, but in 1982 an unusual career twist saw me increasingly taking on the role of motoring correspondent for the Aberdeen Evening Express, starting with the inauspicious launch of an inauspicious car – the Austin Ambassador, a replacement for my beloved Princess of old.
The car was only produced for a couple of years, paving the way for the arrival of the Montego, and was only produced in right-hand drive and never exported, making it a relatively rare sight.
But for me it would herald the first chapter in a writing career that allowed me to drive pretty much every new car on the market over the next 20 years, on and off.
From the Manta, Orion, Uno and Prisma of those early years to Ferraris and Maseratis, I could get a taste of the best and worst cars on the road, jet-setting around the world in the process to join other motoring hacks at a succession of model launches.
By 1986 I was in Finland with Ford, Switzerland with Rover and Lisbon with Toyota, yet away from those wonderful weekly test drives of new models, my own cars were pedestrian by comparison.
In 1988 I was driving Ford’s new Cosworth on the streets of Sicily and Toyota’s new Camry round Avignon in France – but back at home my latest acquisition was a humble silver Escort, my first car with a registration sporting the new prefix letters introduced with A in 1983 and running through to Y in 2001, when the current 01/51 numbering system was launched.
Poor old B137 KSS – someone ran into the back of it a couple of days after I bought it and it was never quite the same again.
Leaving Aberdeen for a new job with the BBC in Glasgow meant bidding a fond farewell to the other members of the Association of Scottish Motoring Writers and, for a few years, the chance to put new cars to the test.
The decade had ended looking at the new Renault 19 in Madrid, the Peugeot 405 in Sardinia and the Seat Ibiza in Barcelona, but to add insult to injury, my own car was now the most unsuccessful investment of my car-buying career, a hopelessly unreliable green Fiat Regata Estate, C95 PSO, that depreciated like a stone.
Dubbed the Fiat Regreta by some other disconsolate owners, painful memories of the unfortunate vehicle take me briefly down an internet rabbit hole to forums where drivers discuss their worst-ever cars.
The language is predictably ripe in places, but making mistakes over the second biggest investment of our lives can leave indelible scars. And there are some belting reminiscences too among the unprintable abuse about heaters that won’t turn off, horrible knocking sounds, uncomfortable seats and violent shaking at more than the most modest speeds.
Or as one Metro owner recalled: “The E stood for economy. Since it didn’t really run when it was rainy, I ended up walking a few times when I had hoped to drive, which was, in a sense, economical. It was an utterly, utterly shite car.”
Vauxhall’s 1.4 Astra comes in for some stick too: “I would say it felt like a boat, but I’ve piloted and sailed boats that handle better and wallow less.”
Other contenders include the Montego automatic seven-seater estate for being “the slowest, least economical car I have ever owned” or the Datsun Sunny where “the time taken from stone chip to rust hole was actually faster than the 0-60 time”.
Some cars were damp, noisy and cold, others bland and soulless and one even spontaneously burst into flames and shut the M1. Complaints ranged from wailing wind noise to lethal cornering and woeful fuel economy.
Perhaps pride of place goes to the disgruntled Renault 19 owner who wrote: “No brakes at all, no grip, no comfort, feel, space, less luxury than communist Russia…”
Such experiences scar us for a generation – just as I could never bring myself to buy a Peugeot again, despite the rust problems of the 1980s being endemic to most vehicles of the period, I remained suspicious of Fiats long after the manufacturer redeemed itself with a series of classic designs like the reinvented retro 500, which remains one of the most recognisable shapes on the road.
Back in Glasgow, the Regata was replaced with a jelly-mould dark blue Sierra purchased from a cheery couple of chaps who resembled the Mitchell brothers of EastEnders fame.
But as luck would have it, the car was pranged on a test drive by a woman who emerged from a side street without checking – and whose husband was so abusive and scary to everyone around that the Mitchells chose not to pursue her for the insurance but to respray it themselves, at no cost.
Great in theory, but the respray appeared to have taken place in the midst of a Sahara dust storm and the car never quite recovered its pristine appearance. Unkempt but reliable, it accompanied us to Bath when I took up a new job at the Evening Chronicle in 1992 – then one of the smallest daily papers in the country and then based in Dickensian-style offices a stone’s-throw from the wonderful Abbey.
By chance, it wouldn’t be long before I was celebrating a return to motoring writing with the veteran racing driver Stirling Moss whizzing me down a Spanish mountain to mark the launch of the Mercedes SLK sports car, with its eye-catching red leather seats and white instrument panels.
For a few more years there would be no need to replace the pebble-dashed Sierra, this time teaming up with the western group of motoring writers to jet around Europe trying out the cars that other people will be buying.
In 1997 we’re at the Trevi fountain in Rome with Daihatsu, trying out the Move before heading off to Toulouse to test the new Megane Scenic and Malaga for the Freelander.
In truth there are too many to list or remember, though some five-star hotels are spectacular and some locations breathtaking – from the Italian lakes to ice driving in Lapland when temperatures plummeted to -50 degrees and our plane was frozen to the runway.
The decade draws to a close with another flurry of outings abroad, from Nice and Amsterdam to Palma and Bilbao, Strasbourg and Lisbon.
Back in the real world I take up a new job in Cardiff for the millennium and spend a couple of years commuting from Bath, now producing motoring copy for a series of weekly papers across the Welsh valleys from Neath to Ebbw Vale.
In 2001 I inherit my father’s faded red Nissan Micra, M145 LWN and manage to boost the mileage to over 61,000 before the abject mortification of driving such an “old person’s car” becomes too great.
Going freelance in 2002 and spending much more time on the road means having to invest in a more modern and reliable car that can cope with daily forays up and down the M4.
A series of car finance deals will see me take the wheel of some brand new cars of my own for the first time – starting with a grey Ford Focus Chic, WV52 WKT, in 2002.
A year and 11,000 miles later and I can switch to a black Ford Focus Ink, WU53 RZK, which will rack up over 41,000 miles in the next three years. A brace of silver 2.0 litre mid-life crisis Hyundai Coupes follow between 2006 and 2008 – RJ05 NFD and EO06 0EB – putting another 40,000 miles on the clock.
But then it’s time to settle down a bit. Having moved to London, I no longer need to be on the motorway all the time, and “Henry” is an amenable Hyundai i10 1.2 litre hatchback which will become my trusted steed for the best part of a decade.
My sister will find such a humble car a bit of a comedown for a motoring writer, but RJ58 RXH survives my move from Maida Vale to Buckinghamshire and racks up a pretty respectable mileage in the process, without complaint.
My wife Olivia’s white Seat Ibiza Toca has proved a similarly sound investment, still going strong more than a decade later with some 90,000 miles on the clock.
But with both cars showing their age and fully paid off, it’s perhaps time to upgrade before Henry finally collapses with exhaustion.
At this point a switch to Skoda proves a successful decision, with a pair of Karoq SUVs offering several years of rewarding driving between them. LR68 FYK and LS71 KXV are a delight to drive, the latter decked out rather majestically in a striking dark blue.
By this point I’ve long since stopped writing about new cars, but the opportunity to get behind the wheel of so many different vehicles over the years has been both an honour and a privilege.
Never a true petrolhead like many of my journalist colleagues, I was always conscious that my readers were often more concerned about the practical realities of owning the car in question, rather than the Top Gear obsession with roaring engines and 0-60mph times.
And owning and running so many un-exotic models myself helped to ground those test drives in reality: living with a vehicle all year round facing the daily challenges of rising fuel prices, poor handling or frequent breakdowns is a very different experience from the razzamatazz of an international car launch, with its pristine models polished and primed by a team of valets and engineers.
Climate change concerns too were impacting on the industry, along with a growing awareness that the idea of flying a couple of hundred journalists to an exotic foreign location to test drive a new model might not generate the good publicity one might wish for.
It was also never a full-time job for me, making it a luxury to dip into that high-octane world occasionally rather than face an exhausting marathon of international flights between launches and motor shows on a daily basis, dogged by inevitable delays and flight diversions.
But of course it was a delight to get the chance to drive a brand new car in the Mediterranean sunshine without having to worry about fuel costs or breakdowns: to spend a day or two in Sicily or Sardinia out of season, perhaps, or pootle round Seville, Gerona or Madrid.
From driving a gleaming Alfa Romeo on desert roads in Morocco to exploring Rome, Milan or Copenhagen, or zig-zagging through the mountains above Salzburg or Baden-Baden on a summer’s day, those snapshots crowd in on the memory.
So why now, in 2025, the switch to Vauxhall, and what is at heart a van design, with twin sliding doors? The answer lies in our four-footed black labrador and the one big drawback of the Karoq as far as dog owners are concerned, that the rear seats don’t fold completely flat.
Step in the Combo Life – perhaps our last chance to snap up a petrol model before the electric revolution that is sweeping car showrooms but hasn’t extended to our street, where there is no access to easy home charging. For now, petrol wins the day – and after a couple of thousand miles, the little Vauxhall has been ticking all the right boxes.
Enormously spacious, it’s soaked up furniture deliveries and trips to the tip. But most of all, it’s proved popular with our indomitable hound. Is it stupid to buy a car based on a labrador’s needs? Maybe – but then, try fitting 40kg of black lab into a small hatchback and the decision doesn’t seem so daft.
There we are then – the 20th car I’ve owned, at a rough count, and so far one that’s definitely brought a smile to our faces. The flexible seating is a definite plus and its performance has been lively, with the ride nothing like as van-like as we might have expected.
Just as well. We won’t be trading this one in any time soon, so here’s hoping it lives up to its early promise and becomes a car we want to remember, adding some more cherished memories of motoring adventures to the many that have gone before . . .