I would like to share a very personal experience with you. It is a tearful tale about a hot hatch that had its beginnings in a world of genuine chamois and finished its life as a burned out wreck. Lonely and dejected, this poor car ended its mechanical life without a trace of dignity and a far cry from the plush beginnings of immaculately paved driveways and privet hedges.



In 2004 I had the utter displeasure of breaking down on the M25. My Space Wagon decided that the engine was to work no longer and promptly dropped it on the tarmac of the hard shoulder. I was then forced to hire a car until I could locate replacement. I ended up leasing a Volkswagen Golf GTi and after my lumbering automatic people carrier, it sent me into throes of automobile excitement. This was an entirely unplanned situation. I was not meant to fall in love with a car, I was not meant to become a petrol head, I had no intention of burning rubber and doing donuts; but something had happened deep inside and I can only assume that I'd been kind of 'Clarksoned'.

I immediately went through the local auto trader ads to locate my new beauty, but I just couldn't afford to buy what my heart desired, and had to downshift as it were to an older model. I decided that a Mark II from the late eighties was within my budget, and promptly ended my leasing contract to purchase the car of my dreams. The minute my eyes met my Mark II model, it was love. The test drive was a thrust fuelled drag race along the A127 and the hefty weight of the hot hatch steering made me feel like I was in my very own road movie, finding freedom and sticking two fingers up to the establishment. I was ready to pack a suitcase and leave nothing but a cloud of dust in my wake.

When I got the papers, I understood why there was such a rapport between me and my beloved VW. We had met many years earlier, in my home town and travelled some miles together whilst a friend of mine was the rightful owner of this trusty automobile. He had it bought for him, brand new as a gift for passing his test. It was a gleaming trophy of success, wrapped with a ribbon on a driveway flanked by perfectly pruned privets. We drove to the coast, through the countryside, along main roads and along dusty tracks to far flung lakes. We went camping with it, picnicked from it and even had a fire side party using it as a stereo on wheels. The love I felt towards this car was comparable to the way Sam Witwicky felt about Bumble Bee in the Transformer movie.

Love alone however was not enough to keep my ageing automobile with me; the rust spread, things fell off and eventually it got swiped by some little oik and went out in a ball of flames just off the A12. The oik remained unharmed, just for the record. Once again, I was sans auto, and set about finding a car. Going to yet another leasing company, I once more headed for the Vee Dubs. My recent experience of love and loss, which I likened to a personal movie, could only be honoured in one way. I leased myself a VW beetle. With a great series of films based on the ever personable Herbie, and a smash hit childrens animation with Bumble Bee; It was only right to choose a classic for my next adventure.