FORGOTTEN FILM CAR: THE ITALIAN JOB LAND ROVER SERIES IIA

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The Italian Job is a film classic. There is no denying that its camp charm and A-list cast assisted in making it the archetypal heist movie. The ‘real’ stars are the Minis, but there is a truly unsung hero basking in the shadows.

Forgotten Film Car: The Italian Job Land Rover Series IIA

The Italian Job may have cemented the Mini firmly in place as a 1960s’ phenomenon, but people forget the Mini Cooper's shining moment would never have come about if it weren’t for the blagger's trusty Land Rover. 

With loads of kit added to it, the gangs 1965 Series IIA properly looks the business, featuring a special tow winch to effectively ‘steal’ the bullion wagon, front mounted jerry cans, blanked out windows, bench seats, roof rack, relocated lights and fierce mesh guards. You wouldn’t want to mess with this machine. Let alone blow its bloody doors off. 

Used to barge through the Turin traffic jam and winch the bullion wagon away, like a true hero it stays behind at the crime scene – abandoned as they escape. Seen over a small section of the 99-minute running time, it is often brushed over when talking about the 1969 cult classic. 

Yet, it is as much a part of the Italian Job as the scene-stealing Coopers. The 2001 video game release allowed the Series IIA an entire mission to itself, darting through traffic and off the beaten track. The remake even had the Defender for modern day good measure, while Land Rover themselves ended up commissioning an advert based around the opening titles (bar the fiery car crash, thankfully) for the 2013 Range Rover – the soundtrack included, as you can watch below:

And what of the actual Land Rover itself? Sadly, very little is actually known about its destiny after filming wrapped. On a ‘C’ registration, BKO 686C has a date of liability claiming the 1st of April 1992. 

Various fates have been suggested, one claiming the Land Rover was given back to the garage it was borrowed from for filming, another claiming the Series IIA was in fact bought by a member of the production team. With no sign or word of it for over 20 years, it tragically looks as if the forgotten film car is no longer with us.

A desolate end to a truly forgotten hero.

FORGOTTEN FILM CAR: DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER TRIUMPH STAG

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Alright, so James Bond has had a fair number of motors, most of them destroyed in ways that make petrol heads cry. From Astons to Citroens, some ride on 007 fandom for their survival. Yet, there is one icon very few of us remember…

Forgotten Film Car: Diamonds are Forever Triumph Stag

After the lukewarm reception George Lazenby received as Connery’s replacement, and due to huge disagreements between Lazenby and the production team, the Bond franchise was in serious turmoil as 1970 rolled in. Lazenby left, leaving James Bond to die away as a 60s’ phenomenon. 

To prevent 007 becoming a mere asterisk in film history, Connery was lured back with a record-breaking wage to portray Bond once more in ‘Diamonds are Forever’. And what timely first vehicle to catch sight of him in other than a Triumph Stag? 

In the movie, Bond drives 'his' Stag to Amsterdam after taking the place of diamond smuggler Peter Franks, however the stories surrounding its usage sound almost as juicy as the V8 itself. 

Many observant listeners noticed that the engine changed noises between shots; from a V8 to a 4 cylinder.  Brush it off as movie-land trivia all you like, but there is a legend here that may raise a pre-Roger Moore eyebrow.

Many have claim to proof that the engine threw ‘a wobbly’, so a Dolomite or Herald engine was dropped in for filming to be completed. However, a further accusation covers Aston Martins objection that the Stag V8 sounded better than the DBS from the previous film, and asked for a redub. With such a connection between Bond and Aston, could the producers refuse? Both sound bizarre, but hold considerable following online. 

The Stag itself, as indicated by the incredibly low chassis number of LD14, was one of a small number of early pre-production cars used in the Triumph press fleet. Coated in Saffran Yellow and donning a brown interior, it might not have been in the movie for long, but nonetheless it is part of Bond vehicle history – no movie franchise offers this much authority. 

The Stag spent many years in a museum environment before undergoing some TLC and receiving extensive bodywork restoration, alongside a new radiator, before being converted to run on unleaded fuel. It went up for auction soon after and sold for £20,700. 

It appears to be one of only a few remaining Stags from the original Triumph press fleet, making it a true survivor – akin to 007 himself. 
 
You can watch the first appearance of the Triumph below:

TOP 5: ROGER MOORES PERSONAL CARS

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Roger Moore is effortlessly cool. Some say he can’t act, but then some also say the Loch Ness Monster is real. One thing that can’t be disputed is that Moore’s taste in cars remains impeccable. Here we run down the top five cars our Roger has personally endorsed. Good enough for Sir Roger, good enough for us. 

When you pair Roger Moore and automobiles together, that ever-lingering 007 connection is never far away. Yet, the James Bond shadow masks some hidden gems from Sir Roger's personal garage. Forget about The Saint, The Persuaders or The Cannonball Run, as searching for glimpses of Moore behind the wheel will purely result in his epic appearances on screen - very little can be found to do with his personal set of wheels. So, we've done a bit of digging around in the archives to see what CCFS could find. 

5. Smart Electric

Yes, 007 currently drives an Electric Smart Car due to space restrictions in Monaco. Let's move on.

4. Renault 5

1985's A View To A Kill may be the first calling point upon the mention of Roger and Renault together, but what you may not know is that Rog' used to dart around in a perky little Renault 5. Whether this little slice of French chic is still buried away in a garage somewhere is unknown - but all we can be sure of is that the image of Sir Brett Sinclair in a tatty-old Renualt 5 is very, very cool. 

3. Jaguar XK150

When under contract by MGM during the 1950s, Sir Roger could be found wafting around the California mountains in his 1956 Jaguar XK150.  Having trouble with your Jaguar? Well, you and the British king of cool have something in common.  

Driving his XK150 to the set every day, it started to develop the unpleasant habit of stalling and stopping. Degrading to the point where starting the big cat became a battery flattening experience, Sir Roger turned up at the Jaguar dealership on Hollywood Boulevard asking for assistance. After being told they couldn’t look at it for at least two days, Moore threatened to drive it through the forecourt glass wall to help with their ‘publicity’. Something he later helped AMC with during The Man With The Golden Gun. Unsurprisingly, his Jaguar was serviced pronto and never proved a nuisance again. 

2. Volvo P1800

Ol’ Sir Rog continues to hold a soft spot for Sweden’s premier estate car manufacturer, but Moore’s fondness for Volvo didn’t stem from the trademark box on wheels, but rather, from the saintly P1800.  As part of the publicity deal Volvo enjoyed with The Saint’s producers, Moore was given a pearly white P1800S to use as a personal hack. 

Simon Templar himself enjoyed his time behind the wheel of his Volvo so much that, despite venturing through Lotus Esprits, Range Rovers, Rolls-Royces and Jaguars, his affiliation with Volvo continues to this day. His latest addition is a Volvo C70, which he had delivered to his home in Monaco. Eyebrow raising, indeed, but it’s not our favourite…

1. Rover SD1

Even through the intensive barrage of publicity Lotus pushed forwards during production of The Spy Who Loved Me, Roger had his eye on something a tad more revolutionary. The ‘other James Bond car’ of that year was a Midas Gold Rover SD1 3500. Saucy.

Taking delivery of the Rover on 20 August 1976 at Pinewood Studios, the trail thereafter goes cold. What we do know is that the tax expired back on 1 November 1983. Sadly, it looks as though OUL 334R met the big metal claw over thirty years ago. However, as far as cool cars with cool owners goes, this is the pinnacle example to beat all others.  

CLASH OF THE CLASSICS: PEUGEOT 205GTI VS RENAULT 5 GT TURBO

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Renualt’s response to the 205GTI used turbocharging to try and gain the upper hand. Richard Gunn pitches them against each other, and makes the toughest of calls…

Model History

The original GTI, which appeared in April 1984, put out 105bhp from its 1580cc overhead cam engine. Phase 1 cars had a two-spoke steering wheel, linear heater controls, black and red velour seats and bright red carpeting. The exterior boasted auxiliary lamps in the front spoiler, red inserts in the bumpers and 14in ‘pepperpot’ alloy wheels. A new cylinder head and camshaft added an extra 10bhp in April 1986, but it wasn’t until January 1988 that more radical alterations ushered in the Phase 1.5. This featured a remodeled dashboard, a three-spoke steering wheel and ‘Monaco’ tweed seat trim. In August 1989, Quartet black and red velour seats became the norm along with central locking. The final Phase 2 1.6 lasted from September 1990 to September 1992, and could be spotted by its darker dashboard and door cards, black bumpers, clear front indicators, and a reversing light and fog lamp in the rear bumper.

The 1.6’s big brother, the 130bhp 1.9, lasted from December 1986 to April 1994 and had electric windows, central locking, half-leather seats and 15in Speedline alloy wheels. Changes then followed much the same pattern as the Phases on the 1.6.

The original Renault 5 came about by accident – designer Michel Boué idly sketched it in 1968 over a picture of a Renault 4. Renault’s management was so impressed that it authorised it for production in 1972. It went on to sell over 5.5 million examples during the next 24 years.

Renault was quick with a hot hatch version dubbed the Alpine (which had to be called ‘Gordini’ in Britain because Chrysler already had the Alpine name). There was even a mid-engined R5 Turbo Group 4 homologation special, which was, quite frankly, insane. The second-generation ‘Supercinq’ turned up in 1984 with Renault once again turning to turbocharging for its range-topping hot hatch. The 1397cc – which dated from 1962 – pushrod ‘Cléon-Fonte’ engine seemed a poor choice on paper, but a Garrett T2 turbocharger boosted the 1985 GT Turbo’s power to 115bhp – more than the 1984 1.6 205 and equal to the 1986 version.

Peugeot hit back with the 130bhp 1.9 GTI in late 1986 and Renault responded with the Phase II GT Turbo with watercooled turbocharging that increased power to 118bhp. The Clio 16v and Williams spelled the end for the GT Turbo in late 1991.

On the Road 

With its friendlier, more voluptuous shape, the Peugeot 205 GTI looks more modern than the Renault 5, and even more welcoming without the excess of fussy plastic decorating the outside.

It’s the more timeless design of the pair, and it’s one that belies its 30-yearold origins, one of those shapes with almost perfect balance and poise, and not a line out of place.

It’s only when you get inside that it leaps back to the 1980s, with greys, blacks and a riot of red. The dashboard is more sensible than the R5’s though.

Those expecting a bit of meat will be disappointed by the tinniness of the exhaust when the car is fi red up. This ends when you slip the car into an easy first gear and give the throttle some heavy right foot. The Pug revs freely and pulls hard from 4000rpm, and it sounds good, too, even if lightweight build means it’s loud.

It grips well, although drive one on old tyres, and you could suffer from turn-in understeer or that oft-talked about lift-off oversteer. But in reality, a 205 GTI on modern rubber will enjoy a grippy roller-skate ride. The slightest movement of an unassisted 205 GTI’s wheel is echoed by electric response on the road. Models with PAS are slightly woollier. 

Body roll is minimal, but more pronounced than in the R5. Disc brakes front and rear mean that the larger-engined GTI is an easy thing to bring to a halt, but why would you really want to? It’s a car that both encourages driving and smiling. And the more you drive it, the bigger the smiles will be. 

Fans of the second-generation Renault 5 always take great delight in telling you that none other than Marcello Gandini – of Lamborghini Countach fame – designed it. And it sort of shows. In contrast to the rounded 205, the R5 is all hard edges and sharp angles.

On the GT Turbo, it’s emphasized even more by a chunky body kit and fake rear wheel cooling grilles. The inside echoes the outside; the steering wheel and gearknob are the most curvaceous items and the overhanging lip above the gauges gives the Renault cabin a very distinctive look.

In action, the GT Turbo has almost none of lesser R5s’ body roll. It’s a very competent car on corners and there’s more stiffness and less understeer than on the Peugeot, albeit at the cost of ride quality. And overall, it covers ground alarmingly quickly with little real effort required.

The unassisted steering is heavy at lower speeds, the clutch pedal hefty. But the steering frees up as you pile on the speed and offers plenty of feedback, but never does it feel as connected as the Peugeot’s. The Renault initially feels slower at first, as the 205 has more progressive power delivery. But then the turbo spools up, defeats the lag and whoosh! – it’s like you’re being shoved hard in the back. It’s the sort of thing that could catch an unwary driver out, especially if it happens while the front wheels are turned, halfway round a wet corner. In a straight line, the R5 feels much more dramatic and pocket rocket-like than the Peugeot. 

This was one of the most fiercely contested battles in the hot hatch market sector back in the mid-1980s. Forget the Volkswagen Golf GTI – that cost considerably more money than either of these young French chargers – and focus instead on similarly priced contenders, such as the Fiat Uno Turbo, Ford Fiesta XR2 and MG Metro Turbo. When you do that, you’ll see why these two dominated the column inches.

And out of this legendary pairing, contemporary magazine road tests seemed evenly split between the Peugeot and the Renault, with the 5 GT Turbo tending to squeak a win on points.

What’s interesting is just how the passage of time has altered this view. Now, the Peugeot has the greater following, with the Renault being the more underground choice for ‘80s aficionados. But taking a more objective view today, and choosing between these two hot-hatch protagonists is as difficult as it ever was.

And, let’s be honest, any decision will be based very much on what you’re looking for from your ride. If feel, communication, and delicacy of response are your thing, then there’s no doubt that the 205 GTI is the car for you. Its hair-trigger throttle, effusive steering, and sheer joie de vivre make this a car that’s near impossible not to fall in love with.

But for those who demand the best acceleration, and ability to demolish A to B runs in the minimum possible time, then there’s no question that the Renault 5 GT Turbo is the car that should end up in your garage.

As for the winner, we’d probably take the Peugeot for everyday use, as it’s more practical, less frenetic, and more fun in the corners. It’s more timeless in its appeal, less rooted in the 1980s and slips more easily into the role of usable classic. But if a Renault pulled up alongside at the lights, we might just get pangs of regret.

BRITISH BEEF FOR SUNDAY LUNCH: FORD SIERRA RS500 COSWORTH

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The Ford Sierra RS500 Cosworth is as British as a car can get – it was conceived over a Ploughman’s lunch. The story goes that after Ford top brass were shown around Cosworth’s engineering facilities and happened upon a turbocharged Pinto engine, the car’s designed on a paper napkin. Stuart Turner said that if Ford built that car, Rover’s all-conquering SD1 wouldn’t win another touring car race.

We want a Ford Sierra RS500 Cosworth - really, really, really badly.

And he was right.  From 1986 until 1990, the Ford Sierra dominated the British Touring Car Championship for outright wins. It also took victories across Europe, sticking it to BMW and Mercedes, and in Australia too. Even Holden hero Peter Brock switched to the Blue Oval to remain competitive.

But if the race cars were spectacular, then the road car upon which it was based was beyond belief. The RS500 was a pure homologation special, and was deemed at the time to be a bit unwieldy compared to the normal Sierra RS Cosworth, thanks to extra lag from the bigger turbocharger. It didn’t add much in the way of horsepower (224bhp compared to 204bhp), but it’s the subtleties that made it a winner on track. There were modified spoilers, extra brake ducts, a larger intercooler, bigger brakes and an additional fuel rail. Utterly pointless for the road car, but these modifications were essential to give the RS500 the edge in touring car racing – which it soon got.

But it wasn’t long until road cars started sporting huge horsepower conversions. It’s accepted that 350bhp could easily (and fairly cheaply) be had without major upgrades to the car’s structure, which meant this car could take it to the performance car royalty such as Ferrari and Porsche – and win. Some hardy modifiers took it to 550bhp and beyond, matching the race cars. And all that in a three-door saloon you could buy from the same place that sold your mum her Orion.

However, the RS500 is now recognized as a blue-chip member of the classic car elite. That goes some way to explaining the large numbers quoted for RS500s these days, and this one is no different. That’s down to rarity, as just 500 were built in the first place, and many have been stolen, crashed or simply disappeared over the years. Just 52 Moonstone Blue RS500s were built, and only 19 are left – this is one of them.

To many any Sierra worth more than £10,000 is ridiculous. Others will baulk at the in-your-face-styling, the unrefined-sounding four-cylinder engine and the lack of a Maranello or Stuttgart stamp on the VIN. But they’re missing out – this really is a supercar for the common man.

FORGOTTEN HERO: THE LADA NIVA

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We are often led into a false sense of snobbery when talking about Soviet vehicles. Easy targets for motoring journalists and sneered at by many a car enthusiast, not all communist vehicles are tripe. Here’s one that gave Land Rover a good run for their money – the Lada Riva.

Forgotten Hero: The Lada Niva

1979 was a significant year for British automakers. Margaret Thatcher - already eyeing up change at British Leyland - inaugurated her rule over the country, inflation rose to a whopping 13.4%, murdering profit margins and British Leyland started yet another re-shuffle that would eventually kill them off for good. But more terrifying to British carmakers than any of this was the arrival of the Lada Niva. 

There were two diamonds in British Leyland’s rapidly dank looking tiara during the tail end of the 70s – Jaguar and Land Rover – and with the arrival of the Niva onto UK soil one of those gems was under threat. Rugged simplicity is good commie territory – and the Niva was not just Russia’s answer to the iconic Land Rover, but it was damn near indestructible. The designers even went as far to describe their creation as ‘a Renault 5 placed on a Land Rover chassis’. 

The Niva appeared to be tailored around sensible underpinnings, with the consensus to add weight and simplify, but it had other tricks up its sleeve. It worked with a unibody architecture and independent front suspension with coil springs, being the first mass-produced off-road vehicle to do so - Land Rover wouldn’t adopt the same concept until the arrival of the Freelander in the 1990s. It also had an excellent four-wheel drive system tested to destruction in the Soviet tundra and could cruise at 56mph averaging 34mpg, while the turning circle was neat, ground clearance was ample enough for deep water crossings and carrying capacity was impressive to say the least. 

It’s understandable then that they sold by the bucket load, scooping 40% of the European off-road market, making it Lada’s most popular export – so much so, that domestic buyers had an incredibly long waiting list to get their hands on one. It’s still Vladimir Putin’s favourite vehicle ever, an exclusive tailored example gifted to him as his every-day car.

However, it’s not all happy with the Niva – some of the flawed running gear was carried across from previous Lada models and the usual Lada cabin quality resulted in Cadbury’s Flake-like rigidity.  Not exactly a great bragging right, that’s like saying your t-shirt was designed by Nick Griffin with fabric by Cruella DeVille. 

However, all of the Riva's little foibles and quality niggles were nothing compared to its on-road manners. The short wheel base and bouncy ride made for frightening manoeuvrability above in-town speed to name but one problem, wind noise was another, excessive gearbox whine was another, excessive discomfort was a biggie as was the lack of sound insulation, the ride quality was another, the mechanicals were outdated by the 1980s, the steering was heavy yet vague, it rolled in the corners to near motion sickness levels, the brakes were spongy and room for four people was incredibly tight. 

Yet, just like the Land Rover, this is not a road car – it is an off-road workhorse permitted to use the Queen’s highways. Take the Niva out into the rough stuff and its ability to work shines through, with a minimal 1210kg weight, narrow tyres, low-ratio transfer box, diff lock and rugged substructures working in its favour to provide almost unimpeachable off-road ability. 

Originally available in left-hand drive form only, the Niva received fresh engines and upgraded interior components by the time we were permitted a right-hand drive version for UK roads – Lada even attempted a ‘Cossack’ special addition to take on the mighty Range Rover. Sadly, Lada pulled out of the UK market in the late 1990s, taking the Niva with it. 

This was a shame, as it robbed us of a fun, rugged, utilitarian vehicle that helped keep Land Rover on their toes and keep Britain moving. Fear not though as, curiously, you can still get one imported into the country through a one-man band in deepest England shire – should you fancy reliving the Cold War in car form. Назад из СССР! 

BEST OF THE BEST: VOLKWAGEN GOLF GTI VS PEUGEOT 205 GTI VS RENAULT R5 GT TURBO

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You don't have to spend tens of thousands to get into some of the most exciting performance cars of the 1980s. With both thrills and practicality there's never been a better time to buy a hot hatch icon...

Try to think of an iconic 1980s car and it’s entirely understandable if the first mental image you summon has two seats and more than 400bhp. This was the decade of automotive excess when no teenager’s bedroom wall was complete without at least one supercar poster; when Miami Vice was iconic rather than ironic.

Yet arguably the more significant performance car development of the era happened at the other end of the market – the arrival of the hot hatch, as makers realised the easiest way to add glamour to mainstream models was with go-faster versions. Many have rightfully been forgotten, but not these three, all wearing a variation of the genre-defining 'GT' badge. The Golf GTI had kicked the whole thing off, with the original arriving in the UK in 1979. The MkII was bigger and brawnier, with our 16-valve version and its more powerful 139bhp engine atop the pile. The Peugeot 205 GTI came later, but received the sort of response normally reserved for boybands; this 1.9 version has just emerged from a restoration that’s made it probably better than when new. And while the Renault 5 GT Turbo didn’t win so much critical acclaim when it was new, time has brought the realisation that this turbocharged ankle-biter was one of the era’s most exciting cars. So which is most convincing today?

Renault 5 GT Turbo 1985-1991

Why it’s here: As the car that introduced turbocharging to a whole new part of the market

It’s probably been a while since you last saw a Renault 5 GT Turbo, and considerably longer since you clocked one like this – completely standard. The blown R5’s combination of affordabillity, tuneability and – it must be admitted – fragility all worked to reduce its life expectancy to below that of a drunk knife-thrower's assistant. Many were blown up by excessive power hikes, run into the ground by uncaring owners or wrapped around solid objects. The car we’ve borrowed is part of Renault’s private collection and is in pretty much exactly the same condition as it left the factory 26 years ago.

Back in the 1980s, everyone wanted a turbo badge. Fabergé even used the name for a brand of aftershave. Renault had built turbocharged R5s before, most famously the mid-engined version that went rallying, but the second-generation GT Turbo was a far cheaper way to enjoy the boosty charms of forced induction. The engine itself was an old-fashioned 1.4-litre pushrod unit that could trace its origins to the 1960s, but a reworking and the addition of a Garrett turbocharger pushed output to 118bhp in Phase II cars like this one, with many owners opting to boost that number considerably upwards. Not a bad figure for a car that weighs just 850kg.

The lack of mass is evident in every other part of the car. The doors feel light and sound hollow when you shut them, the steering wheel vibrates as the engine fires into life. Cabin plastics have clearly outlived their design life by about 400 per cent, feeling cheap and insubstantial. It’s almost as utilitarian as any other R5, lacking even a proper catch for the glovebox that just locks in a hole punched in the dashboard. It’s no surprise the trim rattles and squeaks as the car starts to move; it probably did when new.

Yet the dynamic cues feel far more solid. The steering lacks power assistance and is relatively low-geared, but behind the weight it’s bristling with feedback even at low speeds. The gearshift has a lovely weight and accuracy to it, and – behind an initially wooden-feeling pedal – the brakes bite hard, while the throttle response is sharp enough to be used for surgery. Not that, on first impressions, there seems to be a huge amount of performance to call upon…

That’s because, unlike modern turbos, the 5 GT only gets going at the top of its rev range. The turbo boost gauge that sits beneath the rev counter flicks to full as the engine passes the 4000rpm mark, but with little corresponding increase in acceleration. Just as you’re wondering if one of the turbocharger’s pipes has come off, and are most of the way to the red line, the boost arrives like a police raid. One moment nothing, the next your knuckles are tightening around the wheel as the front end fights for traction, certainly on the damp roads we drove the car on. It’s a proper adrenaline spike and the core of the car’s appeal; you have to really thrash it to get the best from it.

The chassis does a decent job of digesting the peaky power delivery. There’s some torque steer when the turbo starts to spin exiting a corner or on rougher surfaces, just enough to make the GT feel exciting rather than wayward. The steering is accurate, grip levels are keen and the Renault attacks a twisty road like an enthusiastic terrier on a short leash. Most importantly there’s a good balance between the relative grip levels of both axles; too much speed sees the front run wide, backing off gets the 5 tightening its line or even cocking one of its rear wheels.

Relaxing it isn’t. Ride quality is poor and cruising is loud enough to drown the best efforts of the feeble period stereo. But it’s viscerally thrilling in a way that no modern car would ever be allowed to be.

Peugeot 205 GTI 1984-1994

Why it’s here: Brilliant to look at and still brilliant to drive. The seminal '80s hot hatch

Time has already delivered its verdict on the 205 GTI, with values of immaculate examples rising close to and sometimes even beyond its list price when new.

Yet behind the cute styling the GTI has always had a dark side, the praise for the immediacy of its responses and intimacy of its driving experience tempered by the suggestion that, if you don’t know what you’re doing, this is a front-wheel-drive hatchback that can bite like a rear-engined Porsche on a frozen lake. This is the car that introduced the world to lift-off oversteer.

The baby Pug still looks, to employ a technical term, like the absolute business. Back in the 1980s Peugeot knew how to make handsome cars, and the 205 was arguably the most stylish of the lot. The GTI has big alloy wheels filling its arches and a form-enhancing bodykit. It also puts a tick against all those period must-haves: red bumper stripes, an air dam and front foglights. In the cabin there's ample proof that a relative lack of toys and equipment doesn’t have to mean a paucity of design; okay, so the trim doesn’t feel much more sturdy than that of the Renault 5, but has there ever been a better-looking set of instruments than the GTI’s Veglia dials, Delta Integrale-aside?

Geeks can argue for hours about the optimum GTI spec. The 1.9-litre engine only had fractionally more power than the 1.6, the smaller unit also revs with more enthusiasm and has lower gearing, but the 1.9 motor also brought inch-larger alloys and all-round disc brakes. This limited-edition Miami Blue example is fully loaded by the austere standards of the 1980s with grey leather seats, a sunroof, electric front windows and power steering. Peugeot specialist Pug1Off has just completed a full restoration for a expense-not-sparing owner and this GTI is probably in better condition than when it left the factory – even the headlights sparkle with new reflectors.

The power steering doesn't smother the sensation, rather it helps just enough to allow a quicker-ratio rack than the 1.6. There’s just more feedback now on modern tyres thanthere was back in the day. Within a few yards you'll fall hopelessly in love with it.

The impressive thing about the GTI is the level of dynamic precision in what was, behind the hype, a gussied-up version of a basic hatchback. The steering feels pin-sharp, delivering the sort of connection you’d expect from a proper sports car. The accelerator pedal has little travel and the footwell feels tight, but responses are perfectly proportional and the taut chassis gives the sort of throttle adjustability normally reserved for powerful rear-drivers, much more than either of the other cars here. It’s not snappy – Pug1off’s Matt Jobling reckons that extreme oversteer is normally a function of poor alignment and cheap tyres – but you do still need to maintain a healthy amount of respect for the 205’s tendency to go sideways if you step off the throttle when the suspension is really loaded up. Learn to ease the gas fractionally and you discover far more subtle responses: the rear axle neutralises a too-wide cornering line or even edges into a neat slide.

The power delivery lacks the binary excitement of the Renault’s gusty motor. The Pug loves to rev, but it lacks the fuse-lighting moment you’re half expecting to find as the revs ascend. The gearshift is clean and accurate, if not quite as weighty as the R5’s, and the firm, easily modulated brake pedal would be a revelation to anyone who has only experienced the over-servo'd stoppers in Peugeot’s more recent offerings. All in all it comes close to delivering a dynamic masterclass – not too shabby for a 30-year-old French supermini.

Volkswagen Golf GTI 16V 1987-1992

Why it’s here: The car that set the benchmark for the modern hot hatch

Some stereotypes hold true. Back in the 1980s, the Golf GTI was advertised with a TV spot in which its yuppie owner is driven to frustration by a squeaking noise in his Golf’s cabin, only to find it comes from his sleeping girlfriend’s earring. Three decades later and pretty much the first thing you'll notice about this GTI version is how solid it feels when compared with the tinny French cars.

It’s a point that illustrates the Golf’s different mission. While the Peugeot and Renault were built to deliver thrills and excitement above pretty much all else, the GTI was more grown up, as sensible and practical as any of its lesser sisters, just with an extra dose of performance. It even came with the option of a five-door bodyshell, as fitted to the car we’ve borrowed from Barry Lewis for today’s test. Yet it also caught the upwardly mobile spirit of the age – in the early 1990s it often seemed as if every GTI south of Birmingham wore a number plate proclaiming it had been sold by VW’s poshest dealership, Scotts of Sloane Square.

It carried a suitably aspirational pricetag. In 1987 the GTI 16V cost £11,217 – nearly two grand more than the 205 GTI 1.9 and a whopping £3500 over the Renault 5 GT. Yet inside the cabin feels gloomy and toy-free – this 1991 model still has wind-your-own windows and more blanking plates on the dashboard than actual switches. At least there’s a trip computer to look at, albeit with a display screen seemingly borrowed from a Casio digital watch.

The much-vaunted 16-valve engine starts with a surprisingly gruff idle. The golf-ball-shaped gearlever is a nice touch, although the shift action has a long throw, but at lower speeds the GTI feels very much like a cooking Golf of the same era. The ride is impressively pliant, the cabin is hushed and all the controls produce proportional responses. But there’s no sense that it's straining at the leash. Until the first derestriction sign you find yourself wondering just what the fuss is all about.

Yet revs make it good. The GTI is one of those cars that gets better the harder you drive it. The 16-valve engine delivers its extra urge pretty much entirely at the top end, meaning that you have to push it practically to the 7000rpm red line to get the best out of it. Do so and it practically pops a can of spinach, engine note hardening and the driver’s seat applying a surprising amount of pressure to your back.

The Golf might be the heaviest car here, but it still only tips the scale at 965kg, less than a modern Polo. It definitely feels considerably quicker than its eight-valve sister, despite the engine chucking out only 27bhp more.

The 16V’s power-assisted steering lacks the voluble communication of the French cars, but there’s a decent impression of what’s going on behind its lighter weighting and there’s plenty of grip to call on. The chassis reveals a serious side when asked to go faster, not quite losing its low-speed suppleness but firming up nicely under bigger loadings in corners and over crests. While the French duo both make you work for quicker progress, the Golf is one of those cars that just flows at an impressive rate. It can’t match them for adjustability or involvement, but our conclusion after a day in the Fens was that it gives away nothing in terms of back-road pace.

Hindsight has also proved that the GTI possessed the crystal ball in this company, a more accurate predictor of the direction the market would move – towards bigger and more sensible hot hatches, the sort that combine performance with a decent dose of creature comfort. The MkII GTI was arguably the car that got there first and that's probably a large part of the reason it still exerts such a strong appeal to modern buyers.

The Modern Classics view

You might feel that buying one of these cars now would be like arriving late to a party. It’s not long since you could pick up any of them for peanuts compared with their values now and although they might well carry on climbing, investments can go down as well as up.

But we’re not here to suggest a speculative punt, rather to celebrate three cars that are all still brilliant to drive and own. Just looking at this trio is practically guaranteed to get nostalgia tingling in anyone who grew up alongside them, while driving two of them delivers the sort of thrills normally only found by adding neurotoxins to your bloodstream.

The Golf goes first. It's a bit too sensible in this company. If you’re looking for an 1980s hot hatch for everyday use then it’s the obvious choice, and that’s against practically any other car from the same period, no matter the price.

The R5 GT Turbo goes next. It never won the same plaudits as the Golf or Peugeot, but as cars have got fatter and safer, its minimalist rawness has become more emphatically more appealing. It tingles and snorts, but doesn't quite light the synapses as much as we'd have liked.

The 205 GTI, on the other hand, is still an exceptional car to drive. No modern hot hatch gets close to its intimately connected driving experience. It'll be superb to own, as it’s a known quantity, one that’s been a hero since   launch, and which has a great support network. If you get a good one, it'll appreciate nicely, too.

You’ll have your work cut out to find a good one of course, but it’s worth making the effort.

FIRST VS LAST: THE RANGE ROVER CLASSIC

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So, you are looking to buy a Range Rover Classic, but which one is best? One of the first Range Rovers from the early 1970s or a last of the line example draped in luxury and technology? Time to don the wellie boots and find out…

It isn’t easy being ‘the most versatile motor car in the world’ – the exact phrase Solihull used to coin its new 4x4 masterstroke back in 1970. The problem is, the outdoor types demand more and more luxuries every year, rivals chomp away at your lead and – as happened with the Discovery in 1989 – younger siblings from the same factory wade into the territory you used to call your own. It’s no wonder the Range Rover has refused to stand still, constantly evolving to stay ahead of the game – in fact, it’s had to change shape three times to arrive at today’s Rolls-Royce of the rough stuff. 

While the two cars you see here share the same basic underpinnings, an identical wheelbase and Rover’s muscular V8, they represent very different stages in the venerable Range Rover’s evolution. The 1970 two-door is here to represent Solihull’s original, uncorrupted vision of an upmarket offroader, while the 1993 Vogue is the final stage of its evolution into an executive express, before David Bache’s rugged, boxy outline gave way to the second-generation Project 38a model. One thing has always remained constant – the ability to chew through tricky inclines, tow horseboxes and carry a fortnight’s worth of outdoor clobber with a touch of class. Here, we ask the same question posed by different generations, and with very different answers. But which is better?

Let Battle Commence. 

Clamber up into the cabin of the earlier car and there’s a metallic clank as you close that long driver’s door behind you. The fact it gently echoes around the interior gives you an idea of how lightly trimmed it is – there’s PVC cladding, head restraint-free seats for four, two dials, a spindly three-spoke steering wheel and not much else. But that’s how its creators intended it – it’s more comfortable than the contemporary Series IIa, but don’t be fooled by the David Bache penned Rover styling cues on the outside that this is going to be a P6-on-stilts on the inside.

Its plastic moulded dash is unapologetically functional, and the trade-off for having thin, rubber mats you can hose down after a mucky day’s greenlaning is that the 3.5-litre V8’s rumble wafts into the cabin the moment you twist the ignition key. You work that long, slightly agricultural feeling gearlever – the gearknob itself soars up from the transmission tunnel, and meets your hand at about the same height as the steering column – and go for a drive. You hear the gentle whine from the transmission and listen to the various knocks and bumps of the components doing their individual jobs, but unlike the Land Rovers of the same era you don’t feel them jolting you around – it’s no wonder Solihull eventually rolled out the Range Rover’s coil suspension to all its other models. 

There is body roll through the corners, but not as much as you might expect, and the Range Rover’s flat sides and great visibility mean you can confidently place it on even the narrowest of country lanes. The unassisted steering is weighty and responsive, but be warned – it’s hard work if you need to do a tight manoeuvre. It’s the more tiring of the two to drive but there’s something wonderful about the way it immerses you in what it does. It’s a truly talented all-rounder that struts its stuff in a way that’s comfier and more long-legged than the Land Rovers we were all used to back in 1970 – but it doesn’t pretend to be anything else.

It’s a very different animal from the Vogue, which wasn’t even the range-topping Range Rover when it rolled out of the showroom back in 1993 but does everything in its power to soothe your brow and insulate you from the outside world. You can tell from the dashboard that it’s descended from the original but it has been given a 1980s boardroom makeover.

Where the two-door’s has two circular air vents, the Vogue weighs in with five far wider rectangular units, and a chunkier, two-spoke wheel cloaks an instrument binnacle which squeezes a rev counter into the two-dial setup. The transmission tunnel – literally just that in the original, offering up a gear lever, ratio selecter and a rudimentary ashtray – has been festooned with cubby boxes and electric window switches, with a short, stubby selector to access the four-speed automatic.

Everything about it feels plusher, more cocooned, and the 3.9-litre engine – still a Rover V8, but this time with EFi fuel injection – starts with a murmur rather than a thunder, settling into a gentle purr when you’re out on the open road. It’s easier to live with in the corners, thanks partly to the steering being power assisted on the later cars and due to the front and rear anti-roll bars fitted as standard after 1991. Stopping shouldn’t be an issue too, as this car was specced up with the Range Rover’s first ever ABS braking system (although it was standard fit on the even plusher Vogue SE). It’s easy to forget once you’re settled into the veloured contours of the later Range Rover that you’re in the green wellies world of off-roaders – once you discount the commanding driving position the experience is so effortless you could easily be in an XJ6 or an E-class of the same era.

The two-door majors on ruggedness while the Vogue hones in on refinement, but you’ll be delighted to know they’re on a fairly level playing field on the bit that sets the Range

Rover apart from all of its swish executive car rivals – off road. The identical ground clearance, approach angles and four-wheel-drive system means there really isn’t much in it, although the four-speed manual of the earlier car is always going to give you a little more control than the Vogue’s auto will. 

The only real difference is that getting muck out of the Vogue’s interior trimmings will be more of a pain, but even our brief test showed both cars are more than capable of tacking a boggy hillside in Warwickshire with aplomb. Try saying that about a Jaguar XJ6.

The Verdict

So you’re the marketing man’s favourite – one of the ‘business and professional people, with a leaning towards the great outdoors’ openly wooed by Solihull in the opening pages of the Range Rover’s launch brochure. Lucky you! You’ll need a swish set of wheels to greet you as you leave the company headquarters in Manchester on a Friday night, ease your brow as you pop home to pick up the family and your sturdiest outdoor clobber, and then power effortlessly up the M6 en-route to a weekend of hiking/fishing/sailing in the Lake District. 

For that, the Vogue is all the Range Rover you could ever ask for, representing all your outdoor luxury aspirations with a single shimmer of its Ardennes Green paintwork. Certainly, the Vogue is the better car, but the original two-door is the better Range Rover. It feels more alive and – perhaps because you have to live with its heavy steering, minimal trimmings and noisier drive – is infinitely more rewarding.

It’s better looking, too – the 1994 car is a wonderfully proportioned, handsome brute that brings a dash of Countryfle to even the dowdiest multi-storey landscape, but the shape looks so much better freed of all the 1980s clutter and Morris Marina door handles. The original Range Rover has to win not because it’s the best luxury off-roading vehicle of the two in this head-to-head appraisal, but because it has an insatiable appetite for making you smile with its ability to shrug off anything you ask of it. It is the E-type of the great outdoors. 

CLASH OF THE CLASSICS - TRIUMPH TR3 VS MGA

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It’s a sports car debate dating back nearly sixty years - which is better, the MGA or the Triumph TR3?

Many view the late 1950s as the golden era for British sportscars. Roads were empty upon leaving cities and towns and motorways had yet to appear in all their monotonous glory. This left twisting country roads and unpredictability the order of the day. Naturally, back then buying British was not only the patriotic thing to do - it was common sense. Unless funds were unlimited, affordable was the only option - and we Brits did the affordable sportscar better than anyone else. 

Two of the best loved and most cost effective were the MGA and the Triumph TR3. So, donning the tweed cap, scarf and suddenly developing the urge to smoke a pipe when in transit, which of these 1950s beauties is the spiffing gentleman’s best friend? 

The Looks 

Both the TR3 and the MGA look strikingly similar, yet wholly different. Offering smooth curves and perky front ends, each has their unique charm. Together, these cars could be brothers - but upon closer inspection they are different enough to set themselves apart.   

The MGA is still viewed as the prettiest MG ever to grace the tarmac, with the full-length profile perfect in every aspect, there aren’t even door handles to spoil the proportions. When styling isn’t toyed with over a long production run, you know the designers got it right. 

The designers got a lot right with the TR3, too. With an oddly elegant rough-and-ready air around Triumph’s 1950s stalwart, the Walter Belgrove-penned lines are simpler and hark back to an earlier period of British automotive greatness. The end result of the swooping arches and projecting headlamps is a warm-blooded sports car look, perfected by the wire wheels. 

The Power 

B-Series engines can feel unsporting with the MGA, while fragile Twin Cams can often prove to be tricky customers, but that doesn’t stop them proving their worth.  By the time MG tweaked the A into a road-going rocket, a top speed of 115 mph was achievable thanks to 108bhp – also propelling the car and driver from naught to 60mph in 9 seconds. Early MKIs seem lethargic by today’s standard, offering a lowly 72bhp. Even early ones could just about crack 100mph, with a standstill to 60mph dash in 15 seconds. It might sound lacklustre, but back in 1961 very few cars could outrun the little MGA. It’s why Cathy Gale had one during her TV stint on The Avengers.

The Triumph holds even humbler origins than the MG, with engine underpinnings that date back to the mid 1940s - the original power unit propelling a tractor. Thanks to proven indestructibility on the farmyard, the engine was slightly downsized and fitted with twin carburettors. Peak power could be found low down in the rev range, the TR3 beating the MGA to 60mph by nearly three seconds and top out at 4mph faster. This allows the ever-eager Triumph to still cut it in modern traffic. 


The Handling 

Long, winding country roads were firmly in mind when tailoring both these open-top beauties, and this is exactly where they feel most at home. Both being so narrow, the handling is light and bouncy but ultimately good fun. Technology has pushed on dramatically since these cars were launched, but it doesn’t take long to customise yourself to the characteristics of each. The Triumph suffers slightly with a tendency to slide about on uneven surfaces, but confidence is quickly gained to counteract any lairiness from the live rear axle. 

The MGA is also huge fun to play about with but is slightly different in its approach. The steering is direct and the front end will always point where you want it to go, but take a corner too broadly and you could be in trouble. Thanks to the MG’s set up and balance, this can be offset with balancing the throttle - leaving you with a huge grin into the bargain. 

The TR3 grieves from a fair amount of scuttle shake, but it’s to be expected, as its design is older than most houses. The MGA suffers less from this, and therefore is the choice for any long distance journey from the two.

Living with them

If you were feeling brave, you could use either the Triumph TR3 or the MGA as an everyday vehicle. They aren’t going to be the most economical and chances are you may very well face the elements more than you would care to, but parts and advice are easy to source. Clubs exist for both cars and will take you under their wing to ensure you and your cars are taken care of.  

They won’t be overly thirsty on the old petrol either, averaging between 25 and 28 mpg - so long as you add lead additive when required. For this round it’s almost stalemate - with similar boot space and mechanical simplicity - but the MGA pips the battle for comfort with a cabin more accommodating to longer journeys. The TR3 is unlikely to leave you sore in the back department but it may well grind you down on less than smooth tarmac. 

Verdict.

An overall tough choice to make, although there are huge differences between them, it’s almost impossible not to fall head-over-heels for both. As far as looks go, the MGA takes the trophy - but taking power into account the TR3 looks to steal the limelight in true style. 

However, the MGA is far better for trips of any length and handles in a manner more composed to suit the gentleman behind the wheel. As far as spirit is concerned, however, the Triumph feels enlivened with extra dollops of soul. 

In reality, each cancels the other out. But for the purposes of picking the CCFS preferred vehicle - we would have to determine that the MGA makes more sense. Yet, when have classic cars ever been about sense? 

CLASH OF THE CLASSICS: THE VOLKSWAGEN BEETLE VS THE MORRIS MINOR

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The Morris Minor and the VW Beetle are two stalwarts from a time when widespread car ownership was truly opened up for the masses. But which one is the ultimate people’s champion?

Sporty cars are exciting; they allow a sensation of escape from normality. We all dream of owning one. But, very few of us actually bother to purchase a sports car. The vehicles that really capture our hearts and actually matter are the vehicles that helped mobilise us. Let’s face it; you would choose a charismatic Mini Clubman over a showy Lamborghini any day. Wouldn’t you?

So, in that spirit, which iconic favourite should you adopt? The 1950s is a great place to start – an era when many families could bask in the glow of car ownership for the first time. Two potential budget choices were the Morris Minor and Volkswagen Beetle, so… which one deserves your garage space?

The Looks

The Morris Minor does appear a little lumpy when compared to the Beetle, with its flowing lines in various directions and bulges all over the shop - but it still looks friendly. The large lights and wide grille give the impression of a face, while the dimensions add a cute charm topped only by the original Mini.

The Beetle is slicker, but almost gawky with its bulging nose and gawping face. However, despite these common observations, it appears purer in design when compared to the Morris, perhaps due to a little less fussiness in the body design.

However, as far as which one we think looks better – we’d plump for the Morris Minor with its loveable frontal appearance and curves.

The Power

We wouldn’t recommend either of these vehicles if you enjoy muscle and speed. Their power outputs are almost laughable when compared to modern day counterparts.

The Beetle can muster 60mph from a standstill in 27.5 seconds and crack 73mph on a good day with its 34bhp, while the Morris can reach 80mph and achieve 60mph from zero in 24.8 seconds with its 14 extra ponies. Hardly pull-your-face-off fast, but asking these vehicles to undertake a speed run is like asking the Queen to dance the Tango; totally unjustified and missing the point.

The Beetle loses this round - sluggish in comparison to the Minor and ultimately slower, while steep hills are a serious no-no. Strangely, you would never guess that the Beetle is actually the lighter car out of the two.

The Handling

The Beetle works with all-independent (albeit basic) suspension, providing a smooth ride that can cope with even the roughest of roads. However, the steering is woolly to almost Land Rover-esque levels, except that while the Land Rover’s steering is woolly to prevent damaged hands off-road, the Beetle’s seems to be there only to keep the driver awake, with constant correction required to stay in a straight line. Don’t think it’s appalling in the corners though, it’s actually quite easy to place and holds the road well, but it takes some amount of getting used to. It’ll take a corner in a spirited manner under the right circumstances, but that engine in the rear can catch out the unwary who try to drive it in the same way they would a front-engined machine.

The Minor is light and smooth behind the wheel, with a sharper response. The handling is one of the biggest pleasures from the Minor, as it’s extremely precise. The chuckability of the Minor is huge and it copes well with some pretty hard driving, bar some spongy dampers and a touch of body roll - but then this is no Ferrari, so it’s to be expected.

The Interior

The Minor doesn’t really offer much to get excited about in the cabin. It’s clean and functional with lots of room, but where the colour-coded metal isn’t on show, there is a smattering of cheap-looking vinyl covers. The centre speedometer feels like a cost-cutting cop-out to easily swap right- for left-hand drive when exporting to foreign markets. Seats don’t offer any side support and can leave you with an aching back on long journeys without additional lumbar support. In the form of a cushion, perhaps?

The Beetle doesn’t exactly leave you breathless with its achievements inside, either. The quality of the fittings are certainly above the humble Minor though, and there are more chrome highlights, with seats that offer more serious support before you start to tire of them. It’s not all fun and games in the VW however, with extremely poor heat insulation and a ventilation system with less circulation than Sexy TrainTimbles Monthly. Breathless is an understatement, making cold mornings and de-misting the windscreen an absolute misery. 

Living With Them

The Minor may not be the most refined vehicle on the planet, but it is certainly more refined than the Volkswagen when keeping noise at bay. The Morris may not be the most comfortable for a long distance journey, but its lack of support in the seating department can be counteracted, while the noise from the Beetle will eventually give you a headache and, if you’re not a committed Volkswagen fan,  eventually sour you towards the entire car, brand, life and other drivers on the road. 

Both cars are easy to work on and parts are cheap, thanks to a big network of specialists and clubs. When it comes to running costs, the VW will average 32mpg and the Minor can scrape 36mpg, but this will entirely depend on how the vehicles are driven. In reality, trying to keep pace with contemporary traffic will result in below 25 miles per gallon. 

Verdict

They may share a number of common attributes, but the Minor is closest in feel to a modern car, with better performance, handling and fuel consumption. It’s also, in our opinion, the easiest on the eye and has a wonderful feeling of heritage. It’s a nation personified. And it’s our preferred choice. 

FORGOTTEN HERO: PEUGEOT 204

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If you conducted a straw poll with British classic enthusiasts as to what was the first ever front-wheel drive Peugeot, it is almost certain that the answers would be divided between the 205 and, from the more mature, the 104, with occasional reference to the 305. The 204 is largely overlooked.

Today, the Peugeot 204 is almost forgotten, despite the fact that, when it debuted on the 23rd of April 1965, it caused a minor sensation

Today, the Peugeot 204 is almost forgotten, despite the fact that, when it debuted on the 23rd of April 1965, it caused a minor sensation. This was not only due to it being the first small Peugeot saloon since the 1930’s – the 1948-1960 203 was physically imposing despite being powered by an 1290cc engine - but also because it was the first front-wheel drive car from the Sochaux factory.

Such a lack of familiarity with the 204 is understandable given that British sales were hampered by import duties. The 204 may have been ‘nice to drive, economical and safe’ (the tone of the early English language brochure is much understated), but the UK price of a new Peugeot was inflated to £992 4s 1d, a sum that could have bought you a Ford Zephyr 6. Only a select number of British motorists opted for the 204.

Some industry observers note that it was the female drivers who first came to appreciate the 204. Although sales were initially slow, by 1969, the 204 succeeded the Renault 4 as France’s most popular new car, a status it held for three years. Factors in the 204’a favour were space (legroom for rear passengers was exceptionally good by the standards of the day), a very precise all-synchromesh steering column gear change that lacked the strange Z-gate of the larger Peugeots, and first-rate handling and braking. When the light steering and refined engine were added to the equation, it is easy to understand why the 204 was so highly regarded as both a town car and an Autoroute cruiser.

The 204 was augmented with the addition of an estate car and a very attractive three-door coupe, then a drop-dead gorgeous convertible. The last two were built on a shorter wheelbase than the standard 204 and boasted a slightly higher top speed and more thrilling dashboard, with three circular dials replacing the usual strip speedometer.

However, the use of as many existing components as possible meant for a reasonable price – the drophead cost only 20% more than the saloon – bringing the car within reach of the average suburbanite. And just in case Peugeot customers became worried about an excess of decadence, the 204 was also available as a Fourgonnette van and a basic Luxe saloon that was often used by driving schools and the French army. By the end of the 1960’s, the 204 was a ubiquitous sight in France.

The diesel version of 1967 further expanded the model’s popularity, as did the advent of the more upmarket 304 derivative two years later. Production coming to an end in 1976 resulted in more than 1.6 million examples – with 70% of cars produced sold in the home market.

The 204 spawned generations of FWD cars bearing the lion badge and it firmly established the notion that the terms ‘small family saloon’ and ‘exceptional quality’ need not be mutually exclusive. Back in 1966, Motor Sport magazine decreed that the Peugeot was ‘one of the most significant small cars of the 1960’s. In comparison, other FWD cars feel and sound like tramcars.’ And that was not excluding the Mini and the Princess 1100.

CLASH OF THE CLASSICS: OPEL MANTA VS FORD CAPRI

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Natural rivalry has always split the masses. Oxford against Cambridge, Prost against Senna, Pepsi vs. Coca-Cola, Spangles vs. Texan bars, a Sperm Whale against a Giant Squid. These rivalries have stemmed down to car owners, too. Most notably, Ford and Vauxhall.

Vauxhall and Ford drivers have always jousted, in the same way Triumph and MG owners still engage in Wacky Races style engagements to prove that they own the better car. The Vauxhall/Ford rivalry may have cooled slightly in the past decade, but it really hotted up back in the 1980’s between the Ford Capri and Opel Manta.

With the arrival of the MK3, the Capri became the weapon of choice for the younger driver, gleefully pushing sales away from the rivals. However, time has proven that the Manta may just be a better purchase. So which one is best?  It’s Bodie and Doyle against Harriet and James. Time for Dempsey and Makepeace to go Professional…it’s the Ford Capri vs. The Opel Manta. 

The Looks

You wouldn’t call either of them graceful or beautiful, as they are both ruthless looking power crazy brutes. They both look callous, their straight lines and period details helping to confirm that these cars mean to play rough.

Is one better looking that the other? It’s hard to say. Boiling it down to find a winner, we would say the Manta is slightly too 80’s generic – not a bad thing, but the Capri holds more appeal today.

The Power
The Capri is undoubtedly the faster car, offering 0-60mph times around 7.7 seconds and top speeds close to 130mph. While the Manta is certainly not slow, it can’t match those figures. Racing to 60mph in 8.5 seconds, the Opel is still capable of reaching 120mph, however it’s the 50bhp difference that clinches it for the Capri.

The Handling

The Manta and the Capri are both exciting drives, yet the uncontrollable lairy aspect of the Capri makes it relatively terrifying. The Manta has controllable oversteer, allowing opposite lock slides and handling that never fails to slap a grin on your face. The Capri will simply do as it pleases, spinning and tank slapping in directions you never knew existed. 

It’s the handling aspect that allowed the Manta to become a rally winner; the Capri is simply too lively.

The Interior

Both offer nice big slabs of passé 1980’s grey and plastic, with dials and features that transport you back to the Thatcher and Regan era. Uncluttered and retro, these cabins are packed with charm. Again, picking a winner is difficult but as an ergonomically pleasing place to sit the Capri settles the argument.

Living with them

These aren’t what you would call economical. Each will take four people, although the back passengers may be slightly cramped, and have a boot you can actually use.  They are both well catered for with parts and advice from clubs easy to obtain. As long as the car in question hasn’t been heavily abused, they are also quite reliable and both would make acceptable, if slightly thirsty, commuter cars. 

Keeping up with traffic isn’t hard to do either, in fact you’ll almost certainly find yourself overtaking the majority of other transport users.  The only real difference between them is the running costs, with the Manta being slightly cheaper to fuel and run.

Summary

Don’t get the wrong idea, these are amazing cars. Exciting doesn’t even cut it. Yet, how does each stack up? The Capri is faster, better looking and the interior is a nicer place to be. The Manta handles better, is cheaper to run and holds racing pedigree.

It’s a tough one, as the Capri and the Manta are both outstanding pieces of kit, but as the sovereign of excitement and butch looks the Capri reigns supreme. As a driving experience, however, the Manta is king. 

The winner? We’ll leave that up to you, give us your opinion in the discussion box below.

All we need now - some cardboard boxes to drive through…

WOEFUL WEDNESDAY: THE LADA SAMARA

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Just because a car is utterly dreadful and grey, doesn’t have to mean it’s all that debauched, does it? Some examples include vehicles, which at their finest, were average – such as the Marina, Hillman Imp and Vauxhall Chevette. These were cars that we now look back upon with heartfelt affection, but very few of us look back on the Lada Samara with anything other than fear and disdain. Here’s why.

Woeful Wednesday: The Lada Samara

Some cars have been truly great at changing the shape of things to come – like the Escort and Astra; but both were just as good at rusting away as they were at racking up sales. They proved that average could sell - because they were raw good fun. An often-untrue resentment is often presented to us against Soviet vehicles as being drab and ungainly, but these are commonly formed on what Jeremy Clarkson has to say.

True, we giggle and pun at Lada Rivas and the likes of the FSO Polonez, but they were two cars (quite literally) premeditated to survive an uninterrupted barrage of American missiles. As Rugged as a mountain range on the outside yet as flimsy and hopelessly out of date akin to a Dukes of Hazzard script on the inside, they were both reasonably successful on their home turf as they were in the UK – and many owners bought them time after time after time. Could you seriously imagine driving an Austin Allegro or Ford Granada head on into a Soviet snow blizzard in temperatures of minus 15? A Land Rover would deal with it for fun, but that’s quite a bit more expensive and almost alcoholic in its fuel feasting.

You have to face it, any BL or Ford product would probably struggle with a Russian, or nuclear, winter. The Ladas are surprisingly tough old birds, often still being driveable after even the heaviest of collisions. The driver and passenger may be all over the dashboard, but the car can continue on…and that’s just the spirit, is it not?

The Riva was an unmitigated design failure, mainly because they used a 40-year-old, out-dated Fiat design right up until the last decade…but it was built like a tank and supported the livelihoods of millions of families.  So what’s not to like? We find it charming, and rather entertaining. 

The Niva was a monumental laughing stock to those who didn’t understand it, but it was and still is an unbelievably tough workhorse with the characteristics and command of Attila the Hun. Even the historical models before that (the 1200/1500/1600) were capable of driving up a snowy mountain while towing several fallen trees and being attacked by a bear, before driving across a frozen lake carrying a years worth of cod in the boot.

So what in the name of all that is holy where they thinking when they made the Samara?

Is it a pleasure to be in the company of a Samara? In a strange way, it is actually. It just goes to show what we take for granted in a modern budget car. The Samara is the equivalent of Coldplay’s latest album. You just don’t want it. At all.

The plastics inside the car itself are the definition of cheap, tacky and smelly. Strangely, the interior has several sharp edges while the plastics are brittle, probably made from melted down LPs. The smell that greets you is glue. On first impression, it’s a truly horrendous car. While it was a step forward in the modernisation of Lada, and this has never been said before, the Riva has so much more charm that you wouldn’t turn it down presented with one or the other. 

While a car of basic charm can overcome its shortcomings, the Samara is just tripe. It seriously makes the Maestro feel like a modern day Audi. From a short journey as a driver, people found that, although the car was through an MOT, the brakes were downright dangerous as the pedal needed to be in the bulkhead before it did anything, the ride comfort seemed to violate several UN human rights and the acceleration was so poor that on hill starts a pedal bike is more relaxing. As a 1.1, this is a seriously gutless car. I can appreciate that cars can wither with age, but even an old Allegro with the mechanics of a garden shed feels supreme compared to this.

After talking to several owners who had these cars from new, the Samara seemed badly made, weak, flimsy and slow, uncomfortable, dangerous and unreliable. How the hell did these fare in Russia and the soviet side of Europe? Perhaps there is a reason why the Riva continued and the Samara died young. However, further digging found that the Samara was designed solely to infiltrate the decadent western car market. I don’t know what the Lada designers think of the west, but it’s clearly not much.

The fact these sold in decent-ish numbers within the UK boils down to two points: they were seriously, seriously cheap when brand new and cheap to run. The AA man who arrived to help me figure out why my Rover 25 had set itself on fire a while back told me a tale about the Samara when asked, that honestly sounded like he was making it up. It involved two people driving down the motorway after having purchased one from a main dealer and finding the steering column came away from its bearings.

Further than that, electrical components would ignite, brakes would fail completely and the cooling system would fry everything under the rusty bonnet. Drive shafts disintegrated and window cables would sheer – and these are only the most common problems. The clutch was so flimsy that you could change gear without actually using it. While the engine was pretty sound, on tick over the engine was so lumpy that it was common to see them bouncing on their mounts and, yes, it did have fancy light wipers like a Volvo or a Range Rover, but they would stop at such awkward angles that the car would look lop-sided.

After 25 years in the AA, the mechanic told me this was the worst car he had ever found to be sold freely in Britain. He finished, before telling me my Rover was beyond repair, by stating that in a crash over 20 miles per hour, it crumpled so badly, that you were lucky if you came out alive. 20 miles per hour…that’s the speed of a cyclist on a downhill slope.

However, instead of fixing these problems, Lada decided to introduce a saloon version – this was apparently so god awful that dealers could only shift them off their forecourts if they threw in ridiculous extras and finance deals that made them absolutely no money at all. As the Japanese continued to invade and the likes of Hyundai and Daewoo flooded into the market, Lada died a mainstream death in 1996, when importers agreed that for their sanity and due to financial losses, they were going to stop importing them. The Niva was great fun, the Riva was retro-charm and quite cheeky…but the Samara was not only a waste of human effort, material and fluids; it was a waste of automotive space.

Cheap ownership can often bring excitement, but while the Samara can be ridiculously cheap (we found a 1997 GLX 1.5 for £375) the only excitement you would get from your Samara was when someone arrived to take it away. Should it last long enough, owners promise that you will dread every MOT and check up. Of the 62 left on the road in Britain and 102 on SORN, leave them all well alone.

Perhaps, in the not so distant future, these will be put in museums and people will respect it for its age, after all that’s exactly what’s happening now to the likes of the Austin Princess and Ambassador. Until then, steer well clear. If someone buys one in your area, call the emergency services. They are will soon require an ambulance.

CELEBRATING BRITAIN’S WORKHORSE HERO: THE LAND ROVER DEFENDER

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Land Rover went back to the beginning – a windswept beach in North Wales – to open the Defender’s final chapter in 2015. The manufacturer had announced that December 2015 was last orders for Britain’s favourite 4x4 – but it was determined it’d bow out after one heck of a leaving do. So it sent the venerable all-terrain workhorse – and five of its elder siblings – off to Anglesey to start a year of farewell celebrations.

Celebrating Britain’s Workhorse Hero: The Land Rover Defender

The results were spectacular – the sight of six classic Land Rovers carving a Defender outline into the sand at Red Wharf Bay, the very place where Rover engineering director Maurice Wilks sketched out his ideas for a new off-roader in 1947. That wonderful clip of Landies working together and pulling ploughs down the beach was the opening note in the Defender’s swansong.

The classic world responded by putting the spotlight on the Land Rover – and particularly the 1990-on Defender models – at many major events this year. For example, The Heritage Motor Centre – recently renamed the British Motor Museum – used the publicity around the end of Defender production to reintroduce its Land Rover Show after a five-year absence, with the star attraction a special display dedicated to the Defender and its Ninety, One Ten and One Thirty predecessors.

Top Gear thrust the Land Rover farewell into living rooms across the globe by re-creating Land Rover’s infamous 1987 dam-busting advert by sending a Series I up the side of a dam – complete with a nervous Richard Hammond at the helm. Then Goodwood got in on the act. Not only did Land Rover use a Series I to re-create the company’s tilt testing machine at the 1948 Earls Court Motor Show exhibition, but this year’s Revival was the setting for one of the most ambitious classic Land Rover outings ever staged.

Everything from Winston Churchill’s Series I to the Dunsfold’s Collection’s Series IIA-based Forest Rover took part in a series of 55-strong parades around Goodwood’s circuit. It might not have been as tyre-smoking as the St Mary’s Trophy race but it was every bit as memorable – as Goodwood itself put it, it was ‘a poignant reminder of how the Land Rover is woven into the fabric of Britishness’. So tightly woven, in fact, that even Land Rover itself struggled to let it go. There was’t be a dry eye in the house when the last Landie rolled out of Lode Lane. 

The Defender makes no apologies for arriving a bit unkempt at the party. The scuffs in its seats and the scratches in its paintwork are like stains on a boiler suit – it’d rather be out there doing some hard graft than making the automotive equivalent of award acceptance speeches. Unlike all the other attendees, this 110 Hi-Cap pick-up is still a working vehicle – in fact we dragged it away from its day job of lugging things around Bicester Heritage. That’s definitely the vibe you get when you clamber up into its three-seater cab and hear the metallic clank of the driver’s door as you slam it behind you.

You sit almost upright in sparse, echoey surroundings, with the vehicle’s slab sides right up against your shoulders – the Defender is more habitable than Land Rovers of old but it’s still the sort of interior you could hose out after a mucky day trundling around a building site, with chunky rubber floor mats and slab of uninviting grey plastic lining each door. It’s the same story with the controls – not so much a dashboard as an automotive workbench, with the dials neatly lined up across a slab of dark plastic without a curve or swoosh of a stylist’s pen in sight. Not that you’ll care, because you’ll either be in revelling in the commanding driving position or – more likely – far too busy to notice the trimmings.

Twist the key and there’s a judder as the 300TDi up front clatters into life – it’s not an engine note to write home about but you can’t fault its enthusiasm. You almost feel as though you’re taking the transmission out for a walk as you slot into first to pull off – it’s a big, chunky lever with a very long throw – and at first you manhandle the huge two-spoke steering wheel as you trundle forwards.

It bounces and lurches about, even with the coil suspension rather than the leaf system of the old Series models, it’s still set up with hardiness rather than a smooth ride in mind. You soon get a sense of its on-road abilities – push too hard in the corners and you’ll be treated to a some gentle understeer and a lot of body roll, but rustle up the 300TDi’s ample helpings of torque and it’s more than happy to rumble along on the straighter, faster stretches.

Then there’s its party trick. Yes, it might arrive more grubbily and noisily than the other classics here, but add a few inches of snow or some flash flooding en-route and chances are the Defender would be the only one of our dozen to actually arrive.

It has permanent four-wheel drive, controlled by three transfer boxes and delivered to the terra firma (or terra sticky) through knobbly Goodyear tyres – if the BMW M3 is a pair of Nike Air trainers and the Citroën a set of arty loafers, then the Defender’s the grubby pair of walking boots you rely on to get you up Helvellyn. It has short, stubby overhangs so it can tackle a 50-degree incline without working up a sweat and the ability to wade through half a metre of water. Nor does it rely on complicated electronic wizardry to overcome the elements – which means there’s less to go wrong and it’s easier to mend.

Its Meccano-esque simplicity might make it look crude but it’s also its primary survival tool. Yet you can’t help feel the Defender won’t respond to our farewells with a teary-eyed speech – it’ll just carry on plodding on, well past  the very moment the axe finally fell.

FORGOTTEN HERO: THE CITROËN C6

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Citroens, like the French, have flare. Fashion and quirky styling doesn't arrive any better than out of France. This is applied to their cars too; forget about the politics and the striking workforce that tabloids relish in presenting us with, look at the quality. Luckily, the Citroën C6 is a prime example - and one you will probably have forgotten about.

Forgotten Hero: The Citroën C6

The French are famous for various aspects; good cooking, impeccable fashion sense, wearing a stripy top while riding a bicycle. Citroen are also famed for a number of things; hydraulic suspension, futuristic design, erupting into a ball of flame for no good reason. Or at least, that’s the stereotype. The C6 denounces all these French-car urban legends and proves exactly how Citroën can rule the automotive world when budgets allow. And when people actually buy them, of course.

The Citroen C6 is the pinnacle of elegant French design, paired with impeccable ride comfort, and it’s a rare sight on the road. That puts you into an exclusive club – only 23,000 units were made. This may sound like a huge number, but Citroen churned out little more than 3,000 vehicles per annum of its short seven-year life span. BMW produce that number of 5-Series in a week.

Back in its infancy, the C6 was offered with a shed-load of different engines. The best one out of the range, by far, was the 3.0L V6 diesel. The petrol engines were clearly designed by Satan and built by mischief-makers in light of the woe they can create, while the smaller diesels had the rampant acceleration of a slug in a bag. The V6 diesel could rack up 60mph from a standstill in under 9 seconds, with a reasonable average MPG working alongside a clean (190g/km) output. It was seriously impressive, especially when you consider it had automatic windscreen wipers, and lights, way back before they were so much as mainstream. 

Compared to its rivals it fell far short of the mark, however – challengers were quicker, more economical and cheaper. These reasons helped to drum sales into a steady flat-line. As did the battering it took when it came down to company car tax – it sat in the 35% band, well above its rivals at 30%. That’s a rather sizeable lump of extra cash the business user had to pay as benefit in kind to run a C6 instead of the safe-bet BMW.

However, rivals couldn’t waft along nearly as well as the C6. Its soft suspension and comfortable seating encouraged you to relax and temporarily forget your woes. Right up until the dashboard tried to imitate the Blackpool lights with a wide array of warnings.

The C6 does space in abundance – the boot is large, the headroom could accommodate Marge Simpson after a perm and transporting four adults in comfort wouldn’t be much of a challenge at all. The interior design might already be out-dated: a dashboard sprayed with switches, engrossed in material - hiding electronics of dubious quality - but its charm and pleasing aesthetics help to overlook this.

Apart from owning something rather special, there really is no sensible reason for owning a Citroen C6. Owners found that the dashboard was caught doing a rather uncanny impression of a Christmas tree due to everything failing, but just have a look at it. Not since the original Jaguar XJ6 has something in the business car class looked so original and gorgeous. 

Originally, the question of depreciation hung in the air, and when you realise that they cost £40,000 (€48,000) when new, picking one up a few years down the line for just under £4k is a kick in the teeth to those who bought one fresh out the factory. A 90% depreciation value is just mad.

Production ended in 2012 with the limited supply, and buyers predominantly using company cash to purchase them, not necessarily saving the car from second hand value blues. Which is why you can pick one up now for next-to-nothing.

This is all well and good, but why should you really consider a Citroen C6?

Increasing rarity aside, just revel in the fact something as cool as the C6 exists. Classy and exceptional, it’s one of those unusual cars where every drive is special. The styling is almost perfect in every way, right from the curved back window to the sloping front. 

Yes, there are cheaper and more reliable cars to purchase with £4000, but the C6 isn’t like anything else on the market. It is distinctly unique, and, for this reason, the C6 is not only going to be a head turner in years to come – but also a great investment. Few cars out there make such a strong statement about who you are, or want to be seen as.

As they become fewer in number, the values are sure to rise. Already they aren’t too easy to find. Purchase one; adjust to it and, when it’s as uncommon as watching the X Factor without seething in rage, watch the asking prices rise like all historic classic Citroens have. £75k for a DS2, anyone?

JAGUAR XJC VS FIAT 130 COUPE: CLASH OF THE CLASSICS

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Modernism versus classicism. Britain versus Italy. Sharp angles versus voluptuous curves. Fiat’s 130 Coupe and Jaguar’s XJC approach the luxury GT domain in very different ways, and each has their own appeal.

The Jaguar, for example, harks back to the past – lashings of chrome, wood and leather abound. It’s difficult to think of a more British interior; it’s hard not to imagine the interior of the house of the person who bought one of these originally. Lots of panelled wood, Chesterfield leather sofas and a rather spiffing cutlery set glinting out from inside an ornate Victorian sideboard. And even though you’re reading this, and perhaps looking at the pictures here, you can just imagine the lovely smell of it all. A proper smell. Like cars should smell. 

The Fiat is rather more racy. The dashboard is stark black, but some had hints of wooden colour. But are you really looking at the dashboard? No, you’re transfixed by the orange velour (which you can see here). Orange velour. If the Jag was a bubbling hotpot of good old Shepherd’s Pie in the finest tradition, then the Fiat is the full pan-friend Chicken in Arrabiata sauce. But don’t let the retina-searing nature of the interior fabric make you think that this is a hard riding thrash-mobile masquerading as a luxury GT. The ride comfort was praised as akin to that of a contemporary Rolls-Royce, with bumps dismissed in the manner of a nonchalant Latin shrug of the shoulders. 

The exterior is rather more subdued – think Kevin McCloud and his modernist houses, rather than the grandeur of the Jag. Focus on any one part of the 130 and its overall aesthetic might not seem to work, but put it all together it just seems… advanced. You could just imagine the swift trip over the mountains from Geneva to Milan, powered by espresso, clothed in Armani and never without some seductively dark sunglasses.

The Jaguar is rather more lascivious in its curves; again any one element might question the rationality of some parts of the design, but it all holds together beautifully. And while the image of the XJ may have been sullied by the characters who piloted so many of them to early, rusty graves coated in cigarette ash and bacon roll splatterings, the old Jag has come full circle. It’s now deeply desirable – while you can see elements of Pininfarina’s Fiat 130 flourishes in cars made today, nothing that rolls off the factory lines looks quite like an old Jag. 

But how do they drive? The Jag’s V12 is the epitome of smoothness; everything happens with a silky smooth surge and soon you’re going much faster than you realised in quiet serenity. You’ll probably hear the crackle of the tobacco at the end of your cigar far sooner than that of the 12 cylinders under the glorious bonnet. 

The Fiat, as befits an engine built by famed Ferrari engineer Aurelio Lampredi, has an engine that's rather more lively. The 3.2-litre V6 is traditionally Italian in its power band, and automatic-equipped cars are said to struggle. It's much better to have a manual like the one we’ve got here, though others believe the auto 130s are more than fine. It’s not as quiet as the Jag, but then this is a much more dynamic car – the advanced suspension setup, manual engine and harder-edged V6 make for a more engaging drive. It's still a wonderfully smooth companion, however. 

Downsides? Well when you’re dealing with Jaguars and Fiats from the Seventies it’s very easy to trot out the poor build quality and rust cliches, but both these cars have survived around 40 years – if these had been truly neglected, both would have been used as Coke cans many times over by now. Then there’s the fuel consumption.

But let’s move on to the positives. Both these cars are rare – just under 1900 XJ12Cs were built in the first place. A shade under 4300 130 Coupes were built, and even fewer came to the UK. The attrition rate was high, too. What we have here then are two cars that are survivors, that have shrugged of cliches and the ravages of time. Both are utterly wonderful. But which one would you choose? Let us know below.

FORGOTTEN FILM HERO: OCTOPUSSY ALFA ROMEO GTV6

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The first thing you imagine when mentioning a James Bond vehicle is gadgets - loads and loads of them. From oil slicks and rockets to ejector seats and flamethrowers, the automatic nostalgic choice is an Aston Martin, Lotus or BMW. However, one of the finest set pieces for car action involves a bog standard Alfa Romeo - with Roger Moore in a circus suit, naturally...

Octopussy Alfa Romeo GTV6

It might not be packed with machine guns and it might not have been on screen for long, but the fleeting appearance the Alfa Romeo GTV6 makes in 1983’s Octopussy is not only memorable, it’s swung around with some of the best stunt driving ever to grace the silver screen. 

Trying to avert a nuclear disaster set up by some rather nasty chaps on an American air-force base, 007 ends up stealing the Alfa Romeo from a German woman too hell-bent on hogging the telephone box to notice there is an on-going diplomatic nightmare underway. 

Sliding around tight corners and blasting down the autobahn to that glorious V6 snarl, Bond is clearly determined to prevent a nuclear catastrophe as not only is he unaffected by the police only meters behind him in tuned BMWs, he also unconcernedly rams the villains into the verge on the way past. 

To those not old enough to comprehend a world without the mobile phone, you may be questioning the thought process on this one. Surely a quick phone call to a secure line could alert security to the potential Armageddon device nestled in the circus equipment? 

Alas, this is 1983 - mobile phones have not yet hit the mainstream, they are still very much in their infancy. An actual mobile phone from 1983 also happens to weigh more, probably, than the GTV6 and would create a larger nuclear fireball if it was overcharged.  Stuck without his gadgets, in the middle of the countryside with no phones available to use - stealing the fastest car around, in this case the Alfa, was Roger Moore’s only option. 

The GTV6 certainly looks magnificent as it roars past, its sharp lines and almost artistic arched back swerving past every other car on the road. But what of the actual GTV6 itself? 

Very, very little is known of this forgotten Bond vehicle. No one appears to know where it ended up next once filming wrapped, but after the stunt team underwent take after take of tyre burning powerslides, high speed driving and destruction of property, the chances are it was handed back to Alfa Romeo themselves. 

It certainly sustained some damage, whipped through chain barriers and ultimately fired backwards into a rather sturdy stationary object. Discarded by 007 as he sprints off on foot, you can bet he was grinning for the entire journey.

The consensus is that Bonds best vehicle is an Aston, however when it comes to saving the world, forget your DB5 - this GTV6 is the car to do it in. EndFragment

If you like the sound of a Bond car on a budget, how about this GTV6? 

You can watch the epic Alfa Romeo car chase below...

CLASH OF THE CLASSICS: PORSCHE 928 VS JAGUAR XJS

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Clash of the Classics: Porsche 928 vs Jaguar XJS

Porsche’s 928 and Jaguar’s XJS are super-smooth GTs that were designed to move their respective companies forwards into a new age. Both had long production lives, and both have languished in the jalopy regions of the classifieds. However, things are looking up: both are now piquing the interest of a new generation of classic car fans. This means that they’re climbing in value. But which one would you choose?

Round 1. The Power
The 928 started off meaty and became increasingly harder edged as time went on. The first cars had a 4.5-litre V8 good for 237bhp, and by the time it went out of production that had swelled to 345bhp courtesy of a larger displacement; 5.4-litres, to be precise. This means it really is a supercar – the fastest versions can crack the sixty dash in less than six seconds and soar to around 170mph. The in-gear acceleration is where the 928 really feels truly potent – a far off metallic noise can faintly be heard before your eyeballs discover the cut of your rear collar. 30-70mph takes just 4.9 seconds. 
The Jaguar fights back with a meaty 295bhp from its 5.3-litre V12 for the early pre-HE engine. Like the Porsche, evolution played its part – by 1996 the Jag had lost a hyphen but had now become 6.0-litres. At its peak (non-TWR/Lister) evolution, the XJS delivered 308bhp, 0-60mph 6.6 seconds and a top whack in excess of 160mph.
Of course, there’s the six-cylinder Jag to consider – this delivered 237bhp in its final form.

Round 2. The Handling
The early XJ-S was criticised for being far too smooth to drive; a contrast from the belt-and-braces E-type that came before it. It’s a wonderfully smooth experience, but contemporary testers described the steering as being ‘overlight’. However, by the end of its production life it became much tauter - not overly so, however. That would definitely be un-Jaguar-like. 
This provides an interesting link to the 928. For most of its life the 928 was praised for its fabulous grip, incisive steering and ride comfort. The great handling was thanks to its 50/50 weight distribution – but according to contemporary road testers its shift to a harder edge with the GTS models was unsuitable. Journalists bemoaned the loss of ride comfort and one magazine even dared to say it wasn’t particularly refined. But as we’ll see below, this very criticism could be a benefit…

Round 3. The looks
The XJ-S faced a barrage of criticism from the motoring press when it was launched. Following the E-type was always going to be challenge, and I concede that for some the XJ-S will always be the poor relation. But a newer generation is beginning to appreciate the Jag for what it is rather than what it isn't; a younger generation for whom the low roofline, long bonnet and decadent V12 is a satisfying antidote to high-hipped modernity. Dare to say it – itfeels sexy. Time to put the prejudice away?
The 928, however, was miles away from what a Porsche ‘should’ be. It was originally intended to replace the 911, but of course that never happened. It still looks futuristic today; and while the XJ-S look sexy in Savile Row Establishment manner, the 928 is much more Blade Runner-esque. Inside it feels like a spaceship – easing the gear selector into place feels like you’re operating the Starship Enterprise. And with the 928’s propensity for chomping miles quickly, it can make the world like it’s going into warp speed. 

Round 4. Owning one
Both cars weren't exactly cheap when new, and thus you should expect expensive bills to keep them ship-shape. Unfortunately, a lot of them were run on a shoestring, which means finding a good one of either can be a challenge. Jaguars benefit from having a wider resource from which to source parts and knowledge; the club scene really is very supportive and there are many specialists to help. Restoring an XJ-S still won’t make a return, but help is on hand should you do it for the love. 
The Porsche, however, has a different problem. While arguably better built, the newest cars are at least twenty years old now, so expect problems. Unlike the Jaguar parts can be expensive – it really does pay to find the very best car you can in the first place. That’s not to say there isn’t fine support out there – but you’re unlikely to be tripping over bits in autojumbles. 
Oh, and a short word on fuel consumption. Neither of these cars were designed to be particularly easy on the fuel, but the Jag’s V12 does like a drink. Don’t say we didn’t warn you… 

Summing up.
Choosing between these cars really comes down to what you want and expect. Both were high-performance GT cars with long lives, but the differences are marked. The Jag caresses and cuddles, its leather and wood far more restrained and old-school. That’s not to say it can’t summon up the power when necessary, but it’s more of a polite push than outright hooliganism. 
The 928, however, is truly Jekyll and Hyde. While not quite as comforting as the Jaguar, it’s still a wonderful place to be – though more in the style of a modernist home. And should you choose to prod the loud pedal, you really do get supercar heave. Calm it down and it's as docile as a well-fed Labrador.

Which one?
The purity of the originals holds an appeal; the XJ-S and the 928 offer similar power and refinement. This early 928 looks in useable condition and would make an interesting project and this French XJ-S has plenty going for it (and would make a more-than-suitable retirement car for a patriotic Brit ex-pat). 
However if you fancy one of the late-model cars, how about this late-model and factory cosseted 928 GTS? It even has a Porsche director among its custodians. This late-model XJS looks simply beautiful in deep blue – it’s also minus a roof. Perhaps that would edge you in Coventry’s way?
So, over to you – which would you choose? Let us know below…

Nathan Chadwick

DREAM CAR FRIDAY: PORSCHE 968

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The Porsche 968 broke the mould used by the company from deepest Stuttgart, proving Porsche could kick it with modern rivals by concocting a blend of technology and bravura - adding a top speed of 160mph into the bargain.

Porsche is about tradition - reflections of a man who built a number of exquisite sports cars out of the rubble that was postwar Germany. However, tradition doesn’t bring in young customers. No car company wants to end up like Cadillac - who has an average customer age of 65 years old. To put that into perspective, BMW have an average customer of 49 years old.  

Porsche’s answer to the potential age crisis was the splendid 968.  Top speed? 160mph. 0-60mph sprint? 5.9 seconds. Gearbox? Six-speed manual. Greatness? Assured.

It didn’t take a nasally Porsche anorak to point out that the 968 presented more than a passing resemblance to the 944 it replaced however, but in reality - for the Coupè form, at least - only the roof and doors were the same. No other car company could get away with that. 

However, in a fashion previously unknown to Porsche until now, the 968 featured a fresh lower half with various new parts under the skin. One of the major new pulsating components was the 3.0-litre 4-cylinder engine. 'That was actually used in the 944' (!) I hear you cry - but not quite like this. 

The fuel injection system was overhauled, as were the intake and exhaust systems. The cylinder head was also new, to accommodate a new Porsche camshaft timing system - dubbed VarioCam (see what they did there?), while the compression ratio was boosted to 11.0:1. This helped to increase power, reduce emissions and allow for better fuel efficiency.  Along with the engine came a chose of two new transmissions and fresh transaxles relay. 

Pair these advancements with balanced handling, sweet looks, an interior to cosset you into deluxe submission alongside a great exhaust note and the recipe for success was imminent.  The moment the last one rolled off the factory lines in 1995 ‘classic’ status guaranteed. Fast, sleek, desirable, advanced, comfortable – everybody wanted one. 

Finding an unmolested example today that hasn’t been driven ‘to the max’ can be difficult - they’re a particular favourite at track days – but luckily CCFS have this fine example for sale. 

Registered in 1994 and currently holding 109,000 miles on the clock, this particular 968 has a full MoT and a vast service history - not to mention new tyres, which are ready for you to burn up the tarmac.  

CLASH OF THE CLASSICS: FIAT 500 VERSUS AUSTIN MINI

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Chic is a word often overused to by car scribes, mainly to describe brutishly large ‘small’ modern cars. The Fiat 500 and the Mini are possibly two of the chic-est cars ever made. Both are superb examples of utilising space, and making the most out of small dimensions. Both epitomise their respective countries. But which one’s the best?

Round 1: The Power

Or lack of. If you’re thinking of buying either of these cars for their power, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Both came with variations of engines throughout their lives. The 500 was originally available with a 479cc engine producing 22bhp. The Mini came with a 848cc engine with a stonking 34bhp. Of course, both have legendary sporting versions, and the Fiat is rear-engined and rear-wheel drive (like a 911!), but the Mini has the power.

Round 2: The Handling

Issigonis is always credited with inadvertently designing a car that handled like nothing else, completely by accident. With it’s low body, and wheels on each corner, the Mini was a giant beater in motorsport. Even now, Goodwood and other racing series are filled with Minis buzzing around much more powerful machinery like a pesky fly. The 500 is no slouch itself though, with its rear-drive set up. It does lack the motorsport pedigree of the Mini however.

Round 3: The Looks

The Mini was a design revolution, with its innovative front wheel drive and transversely mounted engine. It had room for four adults and luggage, yet, it might not be as characterful as the 500. The Italian car almost has a lovable and adorable face. And not only that, Abarth versions had the rear engine on show. Which makes it so much cooler. Literally.

Round 4: Owning One

Good examples of 500s start from £5000, where as Minis can start from £4000, going all the way up to £20,000. You can spend a whole heap of money on either one. But it’s very little money to pay for something as heart-warming as either of these petite classics.

Which would you choose? Pretty and Italian or iconic and British?

Murray Scullion